


Swear I Knew It All Along

by Em_Jaye



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Best Friends, Bisexual Darcy Lewis, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Idiots in Love, Internalized Homophobia, Jewish Darcy Lewis, Loss of Parent(s), Mutual Pining, Recreational Drug Use, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:34:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27441247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Em_Jaye/pseuds/Em_Jaye
Summary: When her own family ghosts her for Thanksgiving, Darcy accepts her best friend Steve's invitation to come home to Brooklyn with him instead.
Relationships: Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers
Comments: 208
Kudos: 496
Collections: Darcy Lewis Bingo





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ellerigby13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellerigby13/gifts), [grimeysociety](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimeysociety/gifts).



> For my sweet babes, grimey and ellerigby, both of whom already wrote stellar Shieldshock College AUs and both of whom have been so wonderfully enabling and endlessly patient in listening to me yammer about this fic. :-* 
> 
> For Darcy Lewis Bingo:  
> C1 - Handjobs 
> 
> Also worth noting: This fic is set in November of 2008 because a.) I needed to manifest some positive presidential energy while I was writing it (ya welcome) and b.) the idea of me, a senior citizen in the winter of my life, trying to write about current college students would be the fanfic equivalent of Steve Buscemi with a skateboard saying "How do you do, fellow kids?"

Try but I'm not convincing  
Your lips, they pout and twist and  
I die trying just to keep myself from kissing you

 _-_ straylight run  
"the tension and the terror"

i.

Darcy was definitely not going to cry.

She wasn’t. She was absolutely—one hundred percent—not going to cry.

Even though her father was telling her they wouldn’t be spending Thanksgiving together. Even though it was her favorite holiday and the first chance she had to go home for more than a weekend since _last April_. Even though she’d been thinking about how good it would feel to sleep in her old bed again and hang out with her dad and her brother and detox from her massive class load for a few days. Even though she’d been hoping that this year would be less depressing than last year, because last year her mother had _just died_ and everything was too raw and horrible to really enjoy being together.

She definitely wasn’t going to cry.

“It’s fine, Dad,” she said, not bothering to conceal her heavy sigh as she placed her feet on the wall beside her bed and let her hair dangle down to the floor. “We’ll just have Thanksgiving together another time.”

“You’re upset with me,” Hank Lewis stated from Philadelphia.

“Nope,” she lied, letting the _p_ at the end of the word pop petulantly. “I’m fine.”

“It’s just that your brother didn’t think you’d mind. He should have checked with me before he volunteered us… but we really can’t back out now.”

“Yeah, I’m sure he got a nice long talking to,” she muttered and rolled her eyes.

“Darcy,” Hank said seriously. “I’d like for you to choose to not get your feelings hurt about this.”

If she’d been concentrating on something other than not crying, she might have laughed. “Uh. Okay…”

_Doctor Lewis. Paging Doctor Lewis. Please call 211._

“You’ve gotta go—” she said abruptly, agreeing with the hospital’s page before he could brush her off. “Have fun in Venezuela.”

“Darcy, please tell me you’re really okay,” her father said, seconds before she was about to hang up on him.

“I’m fine, Dad,” she said, not bothering to shine on any sincerity. He was only asking to make himself feel better. “I’m really okay.”

“Fuck him!” she cried a day later as she dropped her empty beer bottle down onto the table. Sundays were quarter bottle night at The University Inn. After she’d moped around all of Saturday night and most of Sunday morning, Steve had texted her a picture of his laundry money with the standard invitation.

 _Wanna_ _go where everyone knows our name?_

Usually, Clint, Scott, Wanda, and Luis were around to join them. The whole group would tuck into the back-corner booth and take bets on what song would play next on the jukebox.

With everyone else gone for break already, it was just the two of them in their usual spot. But Darcy didn’t mind—especially when she was this miserable.

Across from her, Steve frowned. “What did he say, again?”

“ _I’d like for you to choose to not get your feeling hurt,”_ she parroted, just drunk enough to be mimicking her father. “Oh, okay, Dad, I’ll just turn my emotions off and be a robot like you and Dan who—by the way—can also totally get fucked. You mean to tell me that a thirty-year-old _surgeon_ isn’t smart enough to check a calendar before he signs himself and his father up for some Doctors Without Borders field trip over a national holiday?”

“Totally get fucked,” Steve echoed, pressing his own bottle to his lips with a sympathetic shake of his head.

“Like, what am I supposed to say? No? _Don’t_ go repair cleft palates for poor kids in developing countries with your favorite child because I’m a selfish asshole who wants to spend time with you while we all fail at cooking a big disappointing meal?”

“You’re not a selfish asshole,” he said and rolled his eyes. “And you could have said those things.”

“Oh my God, in _what world_ could I have said those things? And in what even weirder world would I have said those things and it would have _actually_ influenced anything either of them do?”

She felt Steve’s gaze on her as she pouted her numb lips and rolled her dwindling roll of quarters beneath her fingers. When she looked up, he’d rested his cheek on his closed fist and had turned his sad sweater eyes on her full blast. “So…what are you going to do?”

She scoffed. “What do you mean what am I going to do? I’m going to stay here and be _sad_ and buy a bottle of Jack—”

“You mean a six-pack of Mike’s Hard Lemonade?”

“Probably,” she snapped without missing a beat, “and also a pumpkin pie and get wasted and watch the parade and Charlie Brown and then probably C-Span or something and scream at the tv while this absolute garbage Senate bails out all the banks that just destroyed our economy.”

He blinked. “Would you be open to a counter-offer?”

“No.”

“Not that that doesn’t sound _great_ ,” he went on as if she hadn’t answered. “But there is an alternative.”

“What?” she asked miserably, peeling two more quarters from the roll when it looked like Steve was finishing his beer.

“Come home with me.”

She looked up again. “What?”

“It’s either that or I stay here,” he said firmly. “I talked to my mom yesterday and told her what your dad said and that if I couldn’t convince you to come back to Brooklyn with me, then I’d stay here and keep you company.”

It was her turn to roll her eyes. “You are absolutely not doing that.”

“Not if you come home and hang out with the Rogers clan.”

“Steve—”

“Darcy—”

“I’m not inviting myself to your happy family holiday just because mine sucks.”

“You aren’t inviting yourself at all,” he reminded bluntly. “Anywhere. _I’m_ inviting you. And I’m only inviting you on Ma’s behalf because she doesn’t want to overstep by calling you and inviting you herself.”

Darcy sat up straighter. “Oh my God, Sarah Rogers can call me any time, day or night,” she insisted ardently. “Please make sure she knows that. I would die for her.”

“Tell her yourself,” Steve suggested with a half-smile. “Tuesday. When you come to Brooklyn and let her mother you as she so desperately wants to do.”

She let herself smile at the thought of Sarah Rogers wanting to mother her. She’d been visiting Steve’s family in Brooklyn since they were freshmen. Every time she did, Sarah hugged her tightly like she’d always been part of the family and made delicious food while chattering away in her heavy Irish accent and making Darcy feel like she’d always belonged there, in that little house in Flatbush.

Spending Thanksgiving with her best friend and his impossibly wonderful family would be a million times better than spending it alone in her rundown student apartment. She probably wouldn’t even have time to miss her dad and brother.

A loud cackling laugh from behind her broke Darcy’s reverie and she turned to see two girls she recognized from her Comparative Politics class hovering near the jukebox.

“If they play Carrie Underwood, you come to Brooklyn,” Steve said suddenly, nodding in their direction. “If it’s something else, we’ll stay here.”

“ _I’ll_ stay here,” she corrected, even though she’d already decided she was going. “I’m not letting you stay with me just so I can sit around feeling sorry for myself.”

They waited. She glanced over her shoulder once before she turned back and watched Steve take a final swig from his bottle. He’d just set it back down on the table next to her empty when the first chords of “Before He Cheats” began to play over the speakers.

She fought a smile as she shook her head. “Don’t think I don’t know that you’re only doing this so we can take my car and you don’t have to take the bus home.”

He frowned and put a hand to his ear. “Sorry? I can’t hear you over this bullshit song winning me a ride home Tuesday morning.”

Darcy ran a hand over her face and sighed. “Oh my God you’re insufferable.”

He’s smile softened to something more genuine as he reached out and put one of his large hands over hers. “Darce. Come on. You’re my best friend. You’re my family. I love you. I don’t want you to be alone on Thanksgiving.”

Despite her three beers and her numb lips and fingertips, Darcy felt herself nod and her stomach flip in that inconvenient way it always did when Steve touched her. Or looked at her. Or did anything around her.

“Fine,” she sighed again. “I’ll come. I love you, too.”

And that was sort of the problem.

_Darcy had expected to be bored at Freshmen Convocation. She hadn’t expected to be_ this _bored. Mostly because she hadn’t expected it to go on for so long. A quick glance at her watch told her they were closing in on ninety minutes while she fought another yawn and blinked rapidly, trying to keep herself from drifting off._

_A flash of silver made her look over to the short, skinny boy on her right. She watched, intrigued, as he twirled a heavy silver pen through his long, graceful fingers. On the program on his lap, he’d spent the last eighty-five minutes turning the chancellor of the university and all the deans into caricatures._

_Darcy didn’t bother hiding her grin as she craned her neck to see them all._

_He noticed her attention after another minute of droning from the provost about not squandering the opportunities that lay ahead and glanced over. A shock of thick, blonde hair fell into blue eyes when he looked down and the back up at Darcy. His cheeks flushed pink all the way up to his ears and he winced with a grin. “Busted,” he whispered._

_She felt her smile widen. “I’m Darcy,” she whispered back._

_“Steve,” he said, offering her a hand to shake._

_“Now that we’re friends, Steve,” she said, scooching down a little further in her seat. “I might fall asleep on your shoulder.”_

_He blushed again. “I’ve been threatened with worse.”_

Steve was the only person she ever let drive her car when she wasn’t drunk. She didn’t know why it didn’t bother her—the thought of anyone else behind the wheel made her cringe. But Steve was a good driver and with an eight-hour drive from Culver to Brooklyn ahead of them, she didn’t mind spending some of it in the passenger seat with her feet up on her dashboard.

But when the song switched over, she had to roll her eyes with a groan. “Every _single_ mix, Steven,” she sighed, leaning forward to change it.

He swatted her hand lightly away from the stereo. “Not every mix.”

“Every! Single! Mix!” she cried with a laugh. “Every single mix you’ve made since I’ve known you has Paramore on it. You’re _such_ a fanboy.”

“It’s beautiful music!”

“It’s _decent_ music,” she corrected with a scoff. “But Hayley Williams does _not_ need to be on every last mix that is ever played in my car. I don’t care how big of a crush you have on her.”

“It’s not a crush!” he exclaimed defensively. “I don’t expect you to understand the depth of our love,” he went on without missing a beat. “But she wrote these songs _for me,_ okay?”

Darcy shook her head, unable to help her giggles. “What a dork,” she muttered affectionately.

“And like you’re one to talk,” he challenged. “When’s the last time you went more than five days without listening to something yelled out by Chris Carrabba?”

She gasped dramatically. “How dare you,” she demanded and glanced up the road. “Pull over on the next exit.”

“Why?” he looked over with a smirk. “Are we throwin’ down?”

She laughed again. “There’s coffee,” she said. “But don’t think I couldn’t totally kick your ass.”

“You could not,” he disagreed mildly, flipping the indicator signal.

“I could and I have!”

He rolled his eyes. “That was a snowball fight, and it was freshmen year, and I was much smaller than.”

“So what? I still won.”

_She was back a day earlier than Steve for sophomore year. They’d texted every day throughout the summer and talked on the phone once a week and it didn’t come close to enough to keep her from missing him and counting the days until she could have her best friend back. They’d been inseparable freshmen year. Study sessions and off-campus parties with disastrous games of flip-cup and beer pong, football games and midnight premieres of nerdy movies they couldn’t wait to see, a million cups of coffee and shared meals in the dining hall and Darcy couldn’t wait for him to get back to campus so they could do it again._

_When his ringtone jingled on her phone, she practically dove onto her bed to flip it open. “Are you here?”_

_“I’m here!” he cried. She frowned. He sounded different. “Is the door unlocked? I’m coming up.”_

_“Uh, the hall is,” she said. “And I think someone probably propped open the front door for move-in.”_

_“Be there in a minute,” he’d said and hung up before she could put her finger on what was different about him._

_She got her answer less than a minute later when he knocked on the door of her dorm and she opened it, expecting to find her best friend on the other side. 5’6” and 110lbs with clothes that were too big and hair that was too long._

_What she found instead was a man the size of a refrigerator—at least 6’0” and 200lbs of broad-shouldered muscle and tight t-shirt wearing her best friend’s face. “You’re so big!” she exclaimed before she could stop herself. She gripped the doorframe, wanting to hug him and make sure it was really him, but not trusting herself to stop staring long enough._

_“I know!” he laughed like he couldn’t believe it either._

_“How—why—” she blinked her attention away from his biceps—_ Steve Rogers?!? _had_ biceps _now?!—and back to his face. “Why are you big?”_

_A long overdue growth spurt paired with an experimental asthma treatment had kickstarted Steve’s respiratory health, his endurance, and his ability to put on muscle over the summer and his new job working construction with his two best friends had turned him into a certified beefcake in the span of three months._

_“But who cares,” he said after most of that had fallen quickly out of his mouth. “I missed you,” he smiled and his eyes sparkled mischievously. “And now I can do this.”_

_Before she could stop him, Steve had wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her straight off her feet to hug her. She squealed in surprise for a second before her arms went around his shoulders and she hugged him tightly, dropping her nose to his shoulder. He was still her best friend, she realized with one deep inhale. Still her Steve, no matter what he looked like._

“Are you staring at the keys?” Darcy asked when they got out of the car and Steve went to lock it with the button on the door.

“They’re in my pocket,” he rolled his eyes.

“Take them out and show me,” she insisted. “I don’t believe you.”

With a sigh so heavy it must have hurt his lungs, Steve took her car keys out of his jacket pocket and held them up, jingling them as they closed their doors. “You lock a girl’s keys in her car one time—”

“Seven!” she cried with a laugh. “You have locked my keys in my car _seven times_ in three years!”

“Bucky sent me this article,” he said without arguing with her memory of his own forgetfulness. “That said they’re making these new key fobs that will pair with your car’s computer and it’ll actually prevent the doors from locking if it detects the fob in the car.” He glanced down at her while they fell into step together. “You should get one of those.”

“I don’t need one of those,” she assured him. “I need _you_ to stop locking these keys in my car.”

“Sure,” he shrugged easily. “Whatever. But isn’t that cool?”

“It is cool,” she nodded. “I’m certain it won’t be an add-on option for my sweet little Accordian though.”

Steve looked over his shoulder at her beat-up, hand-me-down Honda and smiled fondly. “Probably not. But once you’re a lawyer and making the big bucks…”

Darcy winced. “I have to get into law school first, bub.”

He dropped an easy arm around her shoulders. “You’ll get in. They don’t start sending acceptance letters until at least January. At least, NYU and Cornell don’t. I think Penn’s even later—Penn’s like, March or April.”

She looked up at him. “How do you know that?”

He shrugged again. “I looked it up.”

She laughed again. “Yeah, okay,” she agreed. “First order of business, once I’m a big fancy lawyer, is a car you can’t lock the keys in.”

_“Steve?”_

_“Hmm?”_

_She took the joint he offered her and put it to her lips. She took a deep inhale and did her best not to cough. She nearly succeeded before she handed it back. They were too stoned for her to be thinking about having this conversation. But she’d already decided she had to say something. Had to know. And laying on the floor in Steve’s room in the shitty apartment off-campus he shared with Clint and Scott and Luis, with the windows open, listening to The Clash like a pair of absolute cliches, she decided she couldn’t wait any longer._

_“Would you still want to be my friend if I was bisexual?”_

_From the corner of her eye, she saw the trail of smoke halt in a slow forming cloud as the joint paused on the way to Steve’s lips. She watched as he set it to the side rolling the burning embers of the end out in the ashtray between them before his head dropped back onto the floor again. He coughed. “Are you?”_

_“That’s not an answer,” she said softly, before she rolled her bottom lip between her teeth. “But yeah,” she added after a moment. “I think so.” She had turned the word over and over all summer. It felt right—it fit the space in her brain that had tried to make sense of the low hum of curiosity that had always lingered in the back of her mind. Of the way her mouth ran dry when the redhead at the coffee shop told her she loved her lipstick, her eyes lingering on Darcy’s lips a moment longer than necessary for a harmless compliment. Of the way it felt just the same as the fluttery excitement that rushed to her core whenever Ian kissed her—despite his fumbling hands that never seemed to know where she wanted them to go. “I tried to tell my mom…” she trailed off as her lips pressed into a frown. “But she just kinda…fluffed me off. It’s okay,” she rushed on quickly when Steve still hadn’t said anything. “If it’s a deal-breaker, I mean.”_

_Though she didn’t think it would be okay if she had to navigate her life without Steve as her best friend._

_While this new word—this new label she was stretching her fingers into a like a new pair of gloves—helped to sort and organize certain thoughts and feelings she’d had all her life, it did nothing to make her understand the ocean of feelings that threatened to drown her every time a new girl noticed Steve was no longer the flyweight he’d been six months ago. An ugly mix of bitterness and jealousy and some kind of sadness that had no place in her thoughts about Steve._

_Maybe it would be easier to know exactly what to do with all of_ that _if he told her he didn’t want to be friends anymore. That he didn’t think she was serious. Or if he made some joke about wanting to watch._

_“Honestly…” Darcy’s heart stuttered in her chest before Steve’s next words. “I think I’d still want to be your friend if you were a murderer, Darce.”_

_She blinked at the ugly popcorn ceiling and frowned deeper in confusion. She looked over at him. “Really?” she raised an eyebrow. “A murderer?”_

_He moved a broad shoulder against the shag carpet. “I guess it would depend on who you murdered,” he said after a moment’s consideration. “But I trust your judgement,” he went on thoughtfully. “I’d assume you had a good reason.”_

_“Steve—” she rolled over onto her belly to be able to look at him straight on._

_“Darcy,” he said, a half-smile on his lips. “What do you want me to say? I don’t care who you’re into. I mean,” he let out a soft laugh. “You’re like, my favorite person. There’s not much you could do or say that would make me not want to hang out with you.”_

_Darcy looked down at him, her best friend Steve, and even though she knew she was definitely too high, she thought that there probably wasn’t anyone more beautiful in the whole world. Her vision swam for a second before she blinked and hid it with a smile._

_“Oh shit,” he sat up quickly, cracking his head against hers so hard she saw stars._

_“Ow!” she exclaimed, rubbing her forehead. “What’s wrong with you?”_

_“Sorry!” he said and clumsily rubbing his fingers over the red welt he’d just given her. “I just got excited. I remembered I have Softstix downstairs in the freezer.”_

_Pain forgotten, traitorous lustful jealousy forgotten, fear of rejection forgotten, Darcy blinked up at him. “Those cheesy pretzel things?”_

_He nodded, eyes wide with excitement. He scrambled to his feet and held out both hands to pull her up. “I bought like, four boxes.”_

With coffees and bagels in hand, they returned to the car, Darcy behind the wheel this time. Steve’s phone rang while he was digging for change for their exit off the turnpike. He turned the stereo down and glanced over at Darcy with a smile before he answered it. “Hey, Ma.” He paused and rolled his eyes. “No, I’m not driving. Darcy is.” Another pause. “Hang on, hang on, I’m just going to—” he stopped and fiddled with his phone for a moment before the speakerphone engaged. “Can you hear me?”

“Aye, I’ve got you loud and clear,” Sarah Roger’s thick Irish brogue rang through the phone. “Can you hear me, then?”

“Loud and clear,” Darcy said, a little louder than was probably necessary.

“Is that my Darcy, I hear?” Sarah asked, warming every little corner of Darcy’s heart with the affection she could hear in her voice. “How are you, my love?”

“I’m good,” she grinned. “Thank you for letting me crash your Thanksgiving.”

“Crash nothin’,” Sarah insisted. “I told Steve he was to bring you with him, or he wasn’t to come at all.”

Steve set his phone on the dashboard and gave a look at the clearly said ‘I told you so’. “What’s up, Ma? Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, love,” she said breezily. “I’m just heading to the shops, figured I’d ask what you want me to fix for dinner.”

They shared a blank, clueless glance before Darcy shrugged and mouthed, _Whatever_ , to him.

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve said easily. “Just make whatever you want. Or we can just order pizza, too.”

“Order pizza?” Sarah repeated with a scoff. “And I’ll ask you to stick a knife squarely in my heart as well, if you don’t mind.”

“What’s this about pizza?” An older, gruffer, male voice came through the phone, sounding far away.

“Your grandson thinks that I’m going to let him order a pizza his first night home when I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him in nearly four months,” Sarah told her father while in the passenger seat, Steve put a hand over his eyes.

“That him you’ve got on the phone?” Patrick Grant asked, his voice coming closer.

“Him _and_ Darcy,” Sarah said pointedly, as if they weren’t all on speakerphone. “They’re on their way home.”

“Is that my girl come to see me?” Patrick said jovially, right into the microphone.

Darcy beamed, gleeful, as Steve’s whole face turned red. “Hi Granda!” she cried.

“Hello, my darlin’,” the old man laughed, making her feel like the most important person in the world for a second. “Are you keeping our young man in line?”

“Every minute I can,” she assured Steve’s grandfather. “I promise I’ll bring him home in one piece.”

“We’ll be countin’ the minutes, love,” he said. “I’ll have a nice drink waiting for us.”

“Someone better decide what I’m making tonight before we start pouring the drinks,” Sarah interrupted. 

“How about chicken and dumplings?” Darcy suggested, glancing at Steve with another shrug of her shoulders. Her first visit to the house in Flatbush had been over spring break, freshmen year. There had been an unexpected snowstorm that had cancelled their plans to go to the pier and Sarah had made the dish with rosemary-rubbed savory chicken, a rich, creamy broth, and fluffy dumplings that floated like pillows on top of the bowl. “I mean,” she coughed, “if you want. I don’t know how much work they are.”

“No work at all!” Sarah exclaimed. “I would love to make you chicken and dumplings. Steve, is that alright with you?”

“Sounds great, Ma.”

“I love you,” she said, quickly, like she knew he was about to hustle her off the phone.

“Love you too,” he said and slid the screen of his phone back into place with a click. He looked over at Darcy. “Okay, but we’re definitely ordering pizza tomorrow night.”

“Beto’s?” she asked hopefully, already tasting the stone-fire baked crispy thin crust and blend of six different cheeses from the pizza place closest to Steve’s house.

Steve scoffed. “Like there’s another kind.”

_To her family and friends, Abby Lewis was only sick for one year and three months. A blessing, people who had experience with cancer would say to Darcy later. No back-and-forth in and out of remission. No drawn-out treatments fraught with invasive surgeries and Hail Mary treatments._

_But the truth was that Darcy’s mother had suspected she was sick for much longer than a year and three months. In the journal she left for her daughter, Abby wrote that she first realized something was wrong when Darcy was fifteen years old._

_Five years. Not one. Five years she could have been fighting the monster inside of her with something more than faith. If she’d gone to the doctor five years ago, she might have been given a fighting chance. She might not have had to die at only fifty-one, leaving her son and daughter motherless and with a heartbroken workaholic as their only remaining parent._

_She was sick for most of Darcy’s sophomore year. Stage-four endometrial cancer. They did all the things—the hysterectomy, the chemo, the radiation. None of it worked. All the radiation did was kill her faster while the cancer it refused to touch spread to her bones and her lungs and her brain._

_Darcy went home once a month. She tried to go home more often, but Abby wouldn’t let her. “You stay with your friends, baby,” she had said every time Darcy told her she could take the year off and be around more. “You need them. I’m not going anywhere.”_

_But that, of course, had been a kind and lovely lie. She’d gone to treatments twice a week for a year. And then in September, once junior year had begun in earnest, she’d gone into the hospital after having a stroke. Then she’d gone into hospice care the day after Steve drove Darcy’s car the six hours back to Bryn Mawr so Darcy could sit beside her and feed her ice chips with a shaking hand while she drifted in and out of lucidity._

_And then she’d gone into a casket of polished blonde wood and into the ground one row over from Darcy’s grandparents at the cemetery._

_Steve’s mother and grandfather came to the funeral. Darcy had met them both plenty of times in the two years she’d called Steve her best friend but did not expect the way her vision swam when she saw him standing between them in the temple._

_“They’re going back tonight,” he said later that afternoon when he found her hiding in her room while the rest of the family sat shiva downstairs. “But I can stay longer,” he looked up from where he’d been absently playing with the ballerina attached to the music box she’d had since she was a kid. “If you want, I mean.”_

_Darcy sat on the edge of her bed. She’d meant to change into something more comfortable, but she couldn’t imagine what it would take to go through her clothes and find whatever that was. It seemed ridiculous that she’d ever have that kind of energy again. That she’d ever care about how her clothes fit her or felt against her skin._

_“Darcy?” he asked, turning from the vanity._

_“Yeah. Sure,” she said numbly. “Whatever.” She blinked once then and shook her head. “Wait, no. Don’t…” her lips pursed. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to stay here. It’s boring and—” she shook her head again. “I don’t even want to stay here.” She looked up from the spot she’d been staring at on the carpet and met his eyes. “If I thought my dad would let me go, I’d make you take me back to school right now.”_

_“I can,” Steve had said, quietly but quickly enough that she knew he would if she really asked him. “If you want.”_

_“No,” she looked down at her hands, clasped uselessly in her lap. Was she supposed to want something? She didn’t even want to stand up. Was she ever going to be able to want anything again? “I’m okay. I just…” her voice finally caught in her throat. All the sobs she’d swallowed down at the funeral and the cemetery, the brave face she’d been painting on since she first arrived at the hospital days ago crumpled finally and she squeezed her eyes shut tightly as two fat tears crashed down her cheeks. “I just want my mommy,” she squeaked._

_Steve was across the room in an instant and wrapped her in his arms so tightly she almost couldn’t breathe. Her tears soaked his suit jacket and her makeup wrecked the white shirt he wore beneath it, but he didn’t move except to run his hand over her hair and in slow, soothing circles over her back. It felt like hours that he stayed there. He didn’t try to get her to stop crying. He didn’t try to look at her face or tell her it was going to be alright or even tell her to breathe deeper or more steadily._

_“Maybe you could stay just one night,” she said when she could finally breathe again._

_Her best friend from high school stayed over too. Darcy slept in her bed with one arm around Jane, clinging to her like a lifeline, and the other hanging off the edge of the bed, her fingers entwined with Steve, who had offered to sleep on the floor._

They’d swapped places again when her phone rang. She turned down the music as her expression puckered at the sight of her brother’s name on the screen. She let it ring one more time. “It’s Dan,” she said with a scowl. “Should I answer it?”

From the driver’s seat, Steve shrugged. “Do you think he’s expecting you to?”

She considered this. “Probably not.”

“Then you should definitely answer it,” he said, surprising her. When she glanced over with a raised eyebrow as the phone rang a fourth time. Once more and he’d hit her voicemail. “Then at least he’s not right about one thing.”

Her sigh was heavy and she didn’t bother pretending to be happy to hear from her older brother by the time she put the phone to her ear. “Hi Dan.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“Yup.”

“I didn’t _know_ it was Thanksgiving weekend,” he said, somehow making this sound like it was her fault. “It’s not like it’s the same day every year.”

She frowned. “Uh, last Thursday in November? Literally every year since it was declared a federal holiday. In _1789?”_

“Are you going to be alone on Thursday?”

“No,” she clipped. “I’m going to Steve’s house.”

There was a pause. “Steve Rogers?”

“No,” she rolled her eyes. “Steve Jobs.”

Beside her, Steve smirked and shook his head. Dan cleared his throat. “Is there something going on with you two?”

“Oh my God.”

“I’m just asking!” he said defensively. “I know you spend a lot of time together—”

“Stop,” she demanded. “Even if there was, I would never tell you.”

“It’s not just me wondering,” Dan went on. “Dad too.”

“Okay, well if Dad has decided he cares who I’m dating?” she asked, her free hand curling into a fist so hard her nails dug into her palm. “Then _Dad_ can summon the effort to show a molecule of interest in his daughter and ask me himself.”

Her brother paused again. She could almost hear him cleaning his glasses like he did every time he was about to condescend her. She considered hanging up before he could. “You know, Darcy, you can stop letting my friendship with him hurt your feelings whenever you want.”

She let out a joyless chuckle. “Oh my God you’re so perfect for each other,” she said, letting her head drop back. “Have an _awesome_ time in Venezuela, Daniel. I hope you and Dad do _awesome_ surgeries and then just sit around and soak up each other’s awesomeness.”

“Is that a reference I’m supposed to understand?” he asked, bristling. “You know, I only called you because I wanted to make sure you were alright, not because I wanted to rub it in your face that we’re not going to be spending the holiday together.”

“Well, I’m fine,” she said. “Nobody has to worry,” she glanced back over at Steve, whose eyes had remained on the road. “I’m all kinds of taken care of.”

He was quiet again. “I know you think I’m an asshole,” he said finally. “But I do love you, Darcy.”

She rolled her eyes a second time. “Yeah,” she huffed. “I love you too. And I still think you’re an asshole. I can do both at the same time—it’s actually super common.”

Dan chuckled softly. “I’ve gotta finish packing. Have a good Thanksgiving, Squeak.”

Her nose wrinkled at the sound of her old nickname. “Be safe.” With a sickly twist of guilt, she quickly composed a text to her father saying basically the same thing. He responded as he always did—in a tone that suggested he thought it might be read back in a deposition and with his full name as a signature. She sighed and slid the phone’s screen over its keyboard before she tossed it back in her bag. It was better than nothing.

“Now that’s what the holidays are all about,” Steve said, looking over with a grin. “That heavy sigh of disgust. All that barely concealed resentment.”

“Shut up,” she warned, unable to help her smile the longer Steve looked at her.

“What?” he laughed. “I’m allowed to comment. Your family sucks—that’s why I keep making you borrow mine.”

She shook her head. “What would I do without you?”

His smile widened. “I think we’re both way too codependent to even want to try and find out at this point.”

That was enough to finally make her laugh.

_The nice thing about alcohol was that it was more affordable than therapy, tasted better with each additional shot, and it offered a delightfully predictable reprieve from the grief, depression, and general misery that came with losing a parent too young._

_The bad thing about alcohol was, of course, everything else. Especially the mornings after her coveted nights of reprieve. Darcy cracked one eye open—the sound a crackling, horrible unsticking like peeling two pieces of Velcro apart—and fought the urge to groan._

_Groaning would be another sound. Another sound to compete with the cacophony she was already dealing with—the blood roaring through her veins, the air swooshing in and out of her lungs like a gale force wind, her heart pounding like a bass drum. She felt disgusting. Sticky with dried sweat and—she glanced down and squeezed her eyes shut again—naked. Hungover and naked in someone else’s bed. This was happening too often._

_Carefully, and with an immeasurable weight of regret hanging on her every movement, Darcy peered over her bare shoulder and winced again at the sight of her bedmate. “Oh, fuck,” she whispered. The sight of Sharon Carter’s honey blonde hair brought certain parts of the previous screaming back into focus._

_Sharon approaching her at the bar and offering to buy her a drink. Sharon, who was already wasted and couldn’t stop herself from touching Darcy’s shoulder, then playing with her hair, then finally grabbing hold of her hips and pulling her closer when they were out on the dance floor. Sharon, taking Darcy’s face in her hands, staring at her with her wide, glassy brown eyes and stating very clearly, “I’m not a lesbian. I swear. But you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, and I really want to know what it’s like to kiss you.”_

_And Darcy, being just drunk enough to no longer remember or care that this wasn’t going to end well, had dragged Sharon over to a dark corner of the bar and let her know exactly what it was like to kiss her. Which, of course, Sharon already knew. Because this was the fourth time they’d hooked up since the previous May. Sharon just didn’t like to acknowledge how gay she was until she’d had at least three drinks. But once she did, things tended to unravel just like they had the night before._

_Darcy didn’t remember getting back to Sharon’s house. But she remembered almost everything else. Remembered Sharon pushing her shirt over her head and scrambling to remove her bra so she could get her lips around Darcy’s nipples, her hands already under her skirt, rubbing her through her panties while they panted into each other’s mouths, Darcy’s back against the bedroom door. Sharon liked to rake her fingers into Darcy’s hair when she went down on her, her long, tan legs spread wide, crying out all kinds of things the church wouldn’t like while Darcy sucked on her clit and pumped her fingers hard and fast._

_But that was last night Sharon. Morning after Sharon was not so uninhibited. If Darcy was still there when she woke up, she’d be treated to the same charade she’d endured three times already. A horrified realization of what had happened. A fierce insistence that she_ Definitely. Wasn’t. Gay. _A demand that Darcy never breathe a word of this to_ anyone _or she’d just_ die _of shame…_

 _She got up as quickly as her throbbing head would allow and pulled her clothes on from the night before. Her fingers weren’t working as nimbly as she needed them to and the clasps of her bra were unimaginable with this kind of hangover. She grabbed her shoes and purse in one hand and her bra in the other, scribbled a note for Sharon,_ “Don’t worry; I get it – D” _and headed downstairs._

_The downstairs bathroom in the little rental house was free and she stopped to gulp down some water from the tap and scrub at her face, avoiding the train wreck of her hair and straightening her clothes enough for a solid walk of shame. She had made it as far as the kitchen, slipping into her shoes and wishing she had a coat, when a sound on the stairs snapped her head up and her mouth dropped open in shock._

_“What are you doing here?”_

_Steve froze on the last stair, eyes wide, deer-in-headlights, at her question. “What are_ you _doing here?” he countered, matching her loud whisper._

_“Leaving before Sharon puts on her purity ring and crucifix and tells me how absolutely, one-hundred-percent not-gay she is. Again,” Darcy hissed. “Your turn.”_

_Steve descended the rest of the steps, hurriedly buttoning the shirt he’d worn the night before. “You were hooking up with Sharon again?” he asked, suddenly a different kind of concerned. “I thought she really hurt your feelings last time.”_

_If Darcy could have rolled her eyes without passing out, she would have. Even though Steve remembering that, of all things at this moment, was kind of adorable. She pointed to the stairs. “Whose bed are_ you _sneaking out of, Rogers?”_

_He winced. “You’re gonna get mad.”_

_“Is it Peggy’s?” Sharon’s sister, a year older than them, who been playing Steve’s crush against him for what felt like decades and who was absolutely not single enough for him to be tiptoeing out of her bedroom at six in the morning._

_“She told me she and Sousa were on a break!”_

_“She was definitely lying,” Darcy informed him plainly. They were both in the kitchen now, arms crossed over their chests, shoes clutched in hand, hissing at each other like a pair of cats._

_“Yeah, no shit,” he rolled his eyes. “I figured that out after her computer started blowing up with IMs from him about going to look at apartments together this afternoon.”_

_“Yeah,” Darcy smiled tightly. “She don’t need you, bub. She and Sous have some shit to work out but you hanging around like a little puppy for whenever she gets bored isn’t going to work out so hot in your favor.”_

_He sighed. “You tell me this now?”_

_“Uh, no? I tell you this_ frequently. _You just don’t like to listen. Especially when tequila’s involved.”_

_She didn’t want to think about the way her stomach had just twisted with a pain worse than her hangover at the thought of Steve and Peggy together. Of him remaining under whatever hold she had over him, dropping everything every time she snapped her fingers._

_She wasn’t jealous, she told herself firmly. She was tired and hungover and whatever urge to be sick she had was thanks to her overindulgence the night before._

_He hung his head. “Maybe we should give up Carter girls for Lent.”_

_“I don’t do Lent,” she reminded him. “But I’d do it with you,” she added. “In a show of Catholic-Jew solidarity.”_

_He checked his watch and looked thoughtful. “New plan.”_

_She raised an eyebrow. “Listening.”_

_“You put your bra in your purse. We leave together—negating our individual walks of shame—”_

_“I don’t think it works like that.”_

_“No, it totally does,” he said, confidently, as if he’d done the math. “If you walk of shame with someone else, it cancels out the shame. It’s just a walk. And once we’re shame-free, we can go to Banner’s—”_

_Her mouth watered at the mention of their favorite restaurant. “Chocolate chip pancakes?” she suggested, her eyes wide and her stomach rumbling._

_“Bacon,” Steve leaned in and tapped his forehead to hers. “And sausage.”_

_“And we never speak of this again.”_

_With their heads still pressed together, Steve looked like a cyclops when he shook his slowly. “Never.”_

_And he was right. A walk of shame with your best friend—particularly when he gave you his coat to wear against the early spring chill—wasn’t a walk of shame at all. Especially when it ended in chocolate chip pancakes._

The house where Steve had grown up was not big or fancy in anyway. Three small bedrooms, one and half bathrooms, a concrete slab with a wrought-iron railing that counted as a front porch and about ten feet of grass on all sides that could be considered a yard if someone were feeling generous. The outside was nothing special, but the inside was warm and safe and always smelled like something inviting. Darcy remembered the first time she’d stepped inside, shaking snow from her hair and stepping out of her boots. She’d taken a deep inhale and looked around at the walls decorated with family photos and the well-worn furniture and smiled. “It feels really good in here,” she’d blurted out without realizing.

Steve had shrugged and muttered something about his mother always having the heat on, but that wasn’t what Darcy had meant. What she’d meant—and didn’t know if she was supposed to say—was that it felt safe there. Like there was almost too much love living between the sheets of faded wallpaper.

It felt like home.

It still did, three years later. More so because Sarah was waiting for them when they dragged their bags over the threshold. She let out a little cry of excitement and threw her arms around her son first, having to stretch up on tiptoe to reach his shoulders and be able to kiss his red cheeks. And then she descended on Darcy, her thin arms encircling her and squeezing so much tighter than anyone would have expected from someone so petite.

Darcy let Sarah hug her as long as she wanted, breathing in the smell of the rosemary in her hair and relishing the way she rocked back and forth twice before she pulled back and held Darcy’s face in her small hands. “How long since I’ve seen this face,” she muttered before she kissed one cheek and then the other. “I swear you get prettier every time I see you.”

They were hustled into the living room so Sarah could close the door behind them. She rubbed her arms while Steve shrugged out of his coat and helped Darcy out of hers. “Where’s Granda?“ Steve asked while they got rid of their shoes.

Sarah shrugged. “Said he had a very important errand to run. Something to do with Christmas decorations of all things.” She shook her head. “I wasn’t paying attention; he’ll be back soon. In the meantime,” she turned back to Darcy. “I’ve got fresh sheets and towels for you up in Steve’s room. He’ll be down here on the couch—”

“I’m fine with that, by the way,” he spoke up from the doorway. “Thanks for checking.”

Darcy grinned as Sarah turned her eyes on her son. “I knew you would be; I raised a gentleman.”

“I can sleep down here,” she offered with a laugh. “It’s not a problem.”

“Absolutely not,” Sarah admonished. “I wouldn’t hear of it.”

“Seriously,” Steve assured her. “It’s fine. I’m just messing around.”

“Okay, well don’t make him drag my bag upstairs,” Darcy said. “I can do it.”

Steve’s room was at the end of the hall, separated from the other two by the stairs and the bathroom. The second she dropped her bag on the bed, Darcy considered calling back down to Sarah that she insisted on sleeping on the couch. Against her better judgement, she sat down on the edge of the bed and lay down on her side. The pillows and comforter were soft and smelled like dryer sheets. The same kind that Steve used when he was at school. Sleeping in this bed would be like sleeping with his arms around her. Warm and safe and everything she wanted and couldn’t bring herself to ask for or even admit out loud.

She rolled to her back and stared up at the ceiling.

This might have been a bad idea. Not just agreeing to sleep in this room, but coming here at all. She could already tell that all spending the week with Steve and his family was going to do was put her more ridiculously, stupidly, painfully in love with him than she already was.

“Hey.”

She blinked and looked up. Steve was standing in the doorway, a half-smile on his face. “Hey.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” she nodded and looked back up at the ceiling, conjuring a joke to banish her melancholy. “I’m just trying to guess which bikini-clad bombshell you had tacked above your bed.”

The other side of the bed dipped as Steve dropped down beside her and folded his hands behind his head. “Not above my bed,” he clarified before he glanced over with another smile. “I was too short to reach the ceiling.” She snorted as he nodded toward the door. “Britney on the cover of Rolling Stone was on the back of the door.”

Darcy giggled. “Nice choice.”

“Who was above your bed?”

She hummed. “Leo, for a while.”

“ _Titanic_ Leo?”

“ _Romeo and Juliet_ , actually.”

“Nice.”

“And then I grew out of him and got deep into a JC Chasez phase.”

Steve scoffed. “Lame.”

“Shut up, he still has the voice of an angel.”

“Aren’t you worried Chris Carrabba will get jealous?”

“No,” she answered easily. “He understands I need to see other people.”

“Good to know,” Steve laughed softly. “Dinner’s just about ready,” he said, jumping up and pulling her to her feet before she could wonder what, if anything, he’d meant by that.

There were trendier spots in Flatbush, but Darcy didn’t want to think about how crowded they might have been. Not when Fury’s was already body-to-body at barely eight o’clock. She held onto the back of Steve’s jacket while he shouldered their way through the crowd, scanning for familiar faces on their way toward the back.

The mass of people thinned so there was space for him to turn back to face her. He motioned over his shoulder. “You want a beer?”

She nodded and watched as Steve turned and managed to take two steps in the direction of the bar when he was intercepted by a flash of dark hair and a solid 200lbs of muscle launching into his arms.

“He’s here!” Bucky yelled the second before they connected.

Darcy laughed, more than impressed by how easily Steve caught Bucky, as if being climbed like a tree by a man his own size was something he did every day. Closely behind Bucky, his redheaded girlfriend made her way through the crowd and stopped at the sight of Steve and Bucky before she shook her head, amused, and came to offer Darcy a quick hug.

“You think they know most straight men don’t greet each other like that?” Natasha asked when she let go.

Darcy snorted. “I don’t think they care.”

“Oh, I know they don’t care,” she assured her, shrugging out of her short motorcycle jacket while beside them, Bucky finally set his feet back on the ground. “Last weekend Buck got too drunk and started weeping about how much he missed ‘His Best Friend Steve’. And he had to keep saying it like that,” she added. “Like I wouldn’t know who Steve was without his title.”

She laughed out loud as the two men finally let each other go and Bucky enveloped her in a hug next. Darcy liked Bucky. He was outgoing and funny and too charming for his own good and, according to legend, the one who’d spent the first seventeen years of his life keeping Steve out of the hospital and dragging him away from fights he couldn’t win. She liked that he and Natasha had been a couple since they were in fifth grade and that the two of them, along with Sam Wilson—who had texted to say he was on his way—had all grown up in the neighborhood together, loving Steve just as much as she did. “First of all,” Bucky said, speaking to his girlfriend with his arms still tight around Darcy. “You won’t diminish my love for my best friend Steve by demanding we adhere to your standards of performance of toxic masculinity. And second,” he released Darcy and pointed in Natasha’s face, “you said you wouldn’t tell anyone about that.”

“I never said that,” she assured him dryly while she greeted Steve with a hug and a kiss to his cheek.

“Our standards of performance of toxic masculinity?” Darcy echoed as her eyebrows raised. “Did you pick up a psychology minor since the last time I saw you?”

“Women’s Studies,” Natasha put in with broad smile.

Even in the dark of the bar, Darcy could see his cheeks turn pink. “That…class wasn’t what I thought it was going to be about,” he admitted quietly.

She giggled again as Steve clapped Bucky on the shoulder and announced they were getting drinks. By the time they returned, Sam had arrived, and the original quartet was complete. There was more hugging, more ribbing and ball-busting, and when it appeared there wasn’t going to be any place for them all to sit down and catch up, it was decided that there would be dancing instead.

Darcy didn’t get a chance to talk to Sam until much later, when he sidled up next to her at the bar. He raised an eyebrow when she accepted her large glass of water. “Cutting yourself off?”

She took an ice cube out of the cup and ran it along her sweaty forehead. “Steve and I were pre-gaming with Granda,” she admitted with a grin. “If I drink any more, I’m going to black out.”

Sam snorted and shook his head. “Granda set you up with his best whiskey to welcome you home?”

She nodded. “He certainly did. We had a nice little catch up after dinner,” she said, smiling broadly at the memory. “He wanted to hear all about the election.”

Patrick Grant was not an American citizen, but he was an avid fan of American politics. He’d listened with rapt attention as she and Steve had talked about all the canvassing and calling they’d done in the final days of the Obama campaign, grilling them both about this policy and that and what they thought he’d get accomplished in his first hundred days in office.

“Hey, quick question,” he said with an abrupt subject change. “You planning on doing anything about this thing between you and Steve?”

Darcy choked on the ice cube she’d just slid between her lips. Sam automatically put a hand to her back and rubbed a few circles between her shoulders before the ice melted in her throat and she could swallow again. She coughed and straightened back up. “Uh, no,” she said after a quick mental tug-of-war with the idea of playing dumb. “I don’t think so.”

He looked genuinely surprised. “You know it’s not one-sided, right?”

She rolled her eyes and looked into the mirror behind the bar. She could see Steve clearly in the crowd, talking to a leggy brunette while Bucky and Natasha were slow dancing a few feet away. “You don’t know that Sam,” she muttered.

His look of shock didn’t fade. “You’re telling me _you_ don’t know that?”

“Can we not, please?” she asked quietly, turning back to face Sam when Steve looked up and caught her gaze in the mirror. “It’s not as cut-and-dry as you’re making it sound.”

“And it’s not as doom-and-gloom as you’re making it sound,” he answered swiftly. “Just think about—”

Sam was interrupted by the sight of Natasha charging toward them through the crowd, her eyes narrowed and her jaw set firmly. Darcy opened her mouth to ask what was wrong when Natasha’s hand closed around the thick, blonde ponytail of the young woman on the barstool next to her and she pulled, hard.

“Owww!” the blonde woman cried. She was more muscular than Natasha, but about the same height when she was dragged off her stool. “Stop it! You’re hurting me!”

“What are you doing here?” Natasha demanded. When she didn’t get an immediate answer, she pulled again on the girl’s hair. “Yelena!” She easily ducked out of the way of her victim’s clawing fingernails. “Where do Mom and Dad think you are right now?”

Darcy let out a little sigh of relief that she was not about to witness a legitimate girl fight—just a squabble between two sisters. Two sisters who’d had self-defense training, she amended her thought as Yelena stomped her combat boot down onto Natasha’s foot and bought the release of her hair while her older sister cried out in surprise.

“Hey hey hey!” the bartender called out, shaking his head. “Chick fight! Take it outside!”

“Nice,” Natasha snapped, grabbing her sister by the elbow. “Way to get us kicked out.”

“I was just enjoying my drink!” Yelena exclaimed as she was led away. Sam paid his tab and waited for Steve and Bucky to do the same before they followed the bickering Romanoff sisters back out into the cold night air.

By the time they got there, Natasha had liberated Yelena’s fake ID from her purse. “This says you’re twenty-eight!” she said with a scoff. “Why do you have this?”

Yelena rolled her green eyes. “So I can get a better rate on my car insurance, you dumb bitch,” she said, her voice dripping with so much sarcasm Darcy thought they might slip on it. “Because I want to get drunk like every other normal human being!”

“You’re nineteen!” Natasha reminded her loudly. “And if Mom and Dad find out that you were here tonight, or that you have this skeezy ID—”

“It’s not skeezy; I paid eighty bucks for that!” Yelena said, deeply offended.

“Eighty bucks?” Bucky scoffed. “Mine was like, twenty-five. Where’d you go?”

Natasha turned and silenced him with a look before she sighed and dropped her arms. “Okay, well, I guess I’m done for the night,” she informed the group. “I’ve gotta take this rogue agent home before our handlers notice she slipped her chains.”

Steve looked at his watch. “It’s almost midnight anyway,” he said with a shrug. “I told Ma we wouldn’t be out much later than that.”

There was another round of hugs—more difficult this time, when Natasha refused to let go of her sister’s arm—before everyone splintered to go their separate ways.

Sam hugged Darcy a little longer than usual and gave her an expectant look when he pulled away. “And hey—” he said, pointing a finger in her face.

“Hey back,” she said, doing the same to him.

“Think about it.”

“ _You_ think about it,” she countered, pleased when he laughed and shook his head.

“Night, y’all,” he called over his shoulder as he started for home with Bucky close behind, Natasha and Yelena hissing insults at each other and bringing up the rear.

Steve was studying her when she turned back. “What was that about?” he asked as they fell into step beside one another, heading in the opposite direction of the rest of their friends.

“Nothing,” she laughed and tucked her hair behind her ears. “We were just—” she scrunched her nose. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Okay,” he said slowly before he tucked his hands into his pockets.

She took in a deep breath and screwed up a second of courage to nudge his side playfully. “Why? Are you jealous?”

His laugh sounded choked—a little forced—while his breath clouded in front of his face. “No, of course not,” he said before he coughed and glanced to his right. “Should I be?”

Darcy forced herself to keep looking straight ahead, her own hands stuffed deep into her coat. “What would you have to be jealous about, Steve?”

He didn’t answer, but instead changed the subject and asked if she’d heard about the documentary coming out about the immigrant and refugee children coming across the Mexican border. She had, but she let him tell her about it anyway, deciding that was safer than either of them answering each other’s question.

The house was quiet when they returned, though Sarah had left the lights on in the living room and kitchen. Steve stopped in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room and groaned. Frowning, Darcy peered around him and found that the sink was full of dirty dishes. She poked him in the back. “You _did_ tell her to leave them,” she reminded quietly. “And that we’d do them when we got home.”

She didn’t have to be looking at him to know he’d wrinkled his face in regret. “I didn’t think she’d _actually_ leave them for us.”

She smiled and poked him again. “I’m going to put on cozy clothes,” she announced. “I’ll be back down to help in a second.”

Steve had changed into soft flannel pants and a looser fitting t-shirt by the time she returned in pajamas of her own. They made quick work of the dishes—she washed, he dried and put away—and by the time they were finished, Steve’s suggestion of hot toddies sounded too good to turn down. Her conversation with Sam, the explosion of tempers between Natasha and Yelena, and the brisk walk home in the cold had left her sober and wide awake.

He was still cleaning up in the kitchen when she wandered back out into the living room and dropped down onto the couch. As soon as she did, sipping carefully on her warm drink, wincing when she realized Steve had put in way too much honey, her free hand brushed against a shopping bag tucked beside the couch. Curious, she set her glass on the coffee table and pulled the bag up onto the cushion beside her. She pushed the plastic aside, her heart jumping squarely into her throat as she pulled out an antique silver menorah and a package of slim white candles.

“What’s that—” Steve stopped mid-way across the living room when Darcy looked up. To her surprise, his cheeks flushed. “Uh…yeah, I um—” he coughed. “I guess Granda was worried that you would feel left out when we put up the Christmas stuff on Friday so,” he sat down on the edge of the couch and rolled his shoulder in a shrug. “I know you told me Hanukkah isn’t really like Jewish Christmas as far as important holidays go, but Ma said he…” he stopped and ducked his head after she looked back down with her vision swimming. “Darcy?”

She sniffed loudly and pressed the back of her hand to her nose, trying unsuccessfully to stem her tears. “Sorry,” she squeaked, shaking her head. “Sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Carefully, Steve moved the bag with the menorah and the candles onto the coffee table and slid to be closer to her. He reached out and ran a hand over her upper arm. “Nothing’s wrong with you,” he said softly. “If you’re weirded out by how much my family loves you—”

She let out a wet laugh and shook her head again. “No, no, I’m…” she sniffled again. “You’re just all so goddamn _good_ ,” she said finally and looked up through the tears clinging to her eyelashes. “You’re so good and sweet and every time I come here I don’t even miss my own family—”

Not that she could let herself feel too guilty about that, she tried to remind herself, thinking of the crisp, businesslike text her father had sent her earlier in the day. Thinking about how her brother had volunteered them both for an international trip without even glancing at a calendar to wonder if they might be leaving her in the lurch. Thinking about how her mother really was the glue that had held them all together…that without her, they were starting to feel like strangers who had once known each other very well.

The thought of her mother made her well up again. How happy Abby had been when she told her she was going to Brooklyn for the first time to visit Steve’s family. How she never pushed and asked if they were more than just friends. How much Abby had loved Steve from the minute she’d met him. How she probably would have cried if someone had bought her a menorah, too.

“Well yeah,” Steve scoffed lightly. “That’s because your family’s the worst.”

She snorted weakly and nodded, rubbing her nose with another sniffle. “They really are.”

His other hand came up and touched her face gingerly, his thumb swiped at a tear as it slipped from her eye. “Just so we’re clear,” he said with a glance toward the coffee table. “Are these happy tears? Or sad Jewish-girl-trapped-in-a-house-of-Catholics tears?”

Her laugh was more genuine that time and she squeezed her eyes shut tightly, trying to stop crying. “Happy tears,” she said finally before she opened her eyes, unwittingly staring right into his. “I’m happy I’m here.”

Steve was suddenly sitting much closer than she’d realized. Close enough to smell the faint hint of whiskey and honey on his breath. Close enough to watch his throat move as he swallowed hard. His hand stayed on her cheek, his thumb dragging lightly across her cheekbone. “I’m happy you’re here too,” he said softly before he leaned in and kissed her forehead.

She closed her eyes again. Her heart hammered in her throat. She knew her hands were shaking when she reached up and covered his, keeping him there, keeping him that close, until she could make herself be brave enough to open her eyes.

He kissed her forehead a second time. And then he kissed both her cheeks. His lips were featherlight, almost shy brushes against her skin. He kissed her closed eyes and then tilted her head up just an inch. “Darcy?”

At the sound of her name, barely a question, barely even a whisper, Darcy opened her eyes and looked into his again. Blue with green and gold flecks. Open and honest and every bit as terrified as she was. Before she could shatter under the weight of the tension between them, she leaned forward and brushed her lips to his.

Just a quick kiss, she told herself. Just enough to tell him he didn’t have to be scared. Enough to tell herself that _she_ didn’t have to be scared.

But the second she let herself kiss him, Steve pulled her in closer and kissed her back. Properly. Thoroughly. The feeling of his full, soft lips moving against hers, the way his fingers slid into her hair when she dropped her hands to his chest and grabbed a handful of his t-shirt, the way the warmth and familiarity of her best friend mingled with the excited fluttering in her chest and the heat that had just rushed to her belly…

There was no way she could pull back from this.

A soft whimper slipped between them, pulled from the back of her throat as Steve traced the seam of her lips with his tongue. She opened her mouth, letting him deepen the kiss while his other hand drifted down her side, over her waist to anchor at her hip. Her hands moved up his chest and over his shoulders, wanting to be closer, needing more of whatever was happening between them.

He broke away first, breathing hard, but dropped his lips back to her skin before she could say anything. His grip on her hip and her hair tightened when she tried to smother another quiet moan between her lips while he trailed soft, slow kisses over her jaw and against her ear. Tired of this awkward angle where she couldn’t get as much of him as she needed, Darcy threw her leg over his and pulled herself into his lap.

Steve groaned and tugged on her hair, pulled her head to one side to have access to her neck. He sucked on the spot just below her jaw where her heart was throbbing in time to the way her hips unconsciously rocked against his. He was already hard, his erection obvious through their thin layers and hitting her in just the right spot to fan that fire beneath her skin, the liquid heat that had turned her legs to jelly.

She raked her fingers into his hair while his hands roamed over her curves with increasing confidence. She took his face in her hands and tilted it up to kiss him again, sweeping her tongue against his when he squeezed her breasts.

She knew she should stop. Pull back and ask what the fuck they were doing. Talk like adults.

But then Steve slipped his fingers tentatively, teasingly beneath her t-shirt, his warm palms sliding over her belly and upward until he was rolling her nipples between his fingers and the thought of stopping any of this seemed like a particularly cruel form of torture.

Their kisses were getting sloppy. Desperate. Darcy arched into his palms for one more squeeze before she wrapped her fingers around his wrist and dragged his hand between her legs. The fabric of her pants was thin, but not thin enough, even with how she rocked against him. He pulled his hand back at the same time as he broke their kiss, both of them breathing hard, their foreheads pinned together. His eyes were dark, pupils blown, cheeks flushed and lips pink and wet from hers. His fingers slid an inch beneath the waistband of her pajamas. His eyes stayed on hers, waiting for her to stop him. But she nodded quickly, urging him to keep going, to touch her and deliver some kind of relief. Darcy slid her hand behind his neck and shifted up higher onto her knees. “I want you to,” she breathed, still nodding as his hand slipped all the way inside her panties and his fingers slid between her thighs.

“Fuck,” he whispered against her lips.

“Keep going,” she begged, pulling him in for another kiss. She moaned and rolled her hips against his fingers while he spread her arousal all over. “Right there,” she whimpered when he found her clit. He circled it slowly, experimentally, doing more of what made her grind down harder and muffle her moans against his lips.

Her own hands dragged down his chest and palmed his erection through his pants. He groaned again and shifted to make more space between them when her fingers slipped beneath his waistband. “Jesus Christ, Darcy,” he whispered when she managed to wrap her hand around his cock. She stroked her thumb over the tip and then moved her wrist in time to the way she was rolling her hips against his hand. “You’re gonna make me come,” he laughed quietly, his words a hush against her neck.

“Good,” she whispered back. She pulled her hand away for a moment, the sound of distress Steve tried to muffle against her collarbone shot through her, soaking his fingers even further. She laved her tongue over her palm, hoping it was wet enough before she slipped her hand into his pants again and began to stroke him in earnest. He sucked a sharp inhale through his teeth and bore down on her clit harder. Darcy whimpered again as she felt her orgasm building. She moved her hand faster, wanting him to come at the same time she did.

Steve rubbed her clit and sucked hard on her neck, scraping his teeth over her pulse while her nails dug into his shoulder and she gripped him like a lifeline. “Just let go,” he whispered, his lips moving up and over her ear. “I got you, Darcy,” he reminded. “Just let go.”

She kissed him again and came hard a moment later, her hand going still while the pleasure ripped through her body like she’d never experienced. His fingers slowed their movements but didn’t stop entirely, stroking her slow and gentle while she rode it out. Her fingers and toes were still tingling when she started to move her hand again. Fast and desperate until only a few seconds later, Steve broke their kiss with a choked cry and she felt him spill over her fist, hot and sticky and somehow deeply satisfying.

They pulled back slowly, both breathing hard and blinking the world back into focus.

“Oh, shit.” The words drifted past her lips before she could stop them.

“Yeah,” Steve huffed out the word, still trying to catch his breath.

They were careful in extracting their hands from each other while the realization of what had just happened—what they’d just done—sank in slowly around them.

“ _Shit_ ,” Darcy said again. She should get up. Clean up. Get away from him and his eyes and lips and figure out what was going on and what they were going to do and if they’d just ruined everything.

“Uh,” Steve’s nose was nearly touching hers. Their foreheads only centimeters apart. Their lips practically still brushing. “We should. Um. Talk about this?”

She nodded, a wave of too many things threatening to crash over her all at once. Confusion, hope, regret, excitement. She closed her eyes again. “Can we talk about it tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” he said immediately. “Sure. That’s—” His brow had folded in concern when she looked at him again. “Are you…okay?”

“Yeah,” she echoed. “I just…” she ran her bottom lip through her teeth. “I just think I should go to bed.”

“Okay,” he said, still looking apprehensive. “That’s probably a good idea.”

Darcy wasn’t sure that it was. She wasn’t sure she had to brain space to process what had just happened. She wasn’t even sure she was able to take a breath until she was upstairs, scrubbing her hands in the bathroom sink and staring at her reflection in the mirror.

Her cheeks were still flushed, her lips swollen from kisses, her hair was a mess. She brushed her teeth and washed her face and slipped into Steve’s room, shutting the door behind her. The bed squeaked when she dropped down onto it and stared up at the ceiling, whispering her question into the universe, hoping someone had an answer for her.

“What the _fuck_?"


	2. ii

We're doing fine,  
We're doing nothing at all.

My hopes are so high,  
That your kiss might kill me.

-dashboard confessional  
"hands down"

ii.

Darcy had expected to toss and turn, lay awake staring up at the ceiling reflecting and replaying every single second that had passed since she and Steve had arrived home from the bar. But she hadn’t. At least, not for more than a few minutes before a mix of adrenaline crash, genuine exhaustion, and the welcome embrace of soft, clean, safe-smelling sheets and pillows pulled her into a deeper sleep than she’d had in months.

Everyone was already awake by the time she got downstairs the next morning, derailing her plan to talk to Steve about what had happened as soon as possible. That was probably for the best, she reasoned as she passed through the empty living room and into the kitchen, since she didn’t have any idea what she was going to say.

“Good morning sweetheart,” Granda greeted her cheerfully from his place at the stove. A heady mix of coffee and grilled onions and peppers filled the small room and had her stomach growling quietly while she poured herself a cup from the coffeemaker. “How’s eggs and potatoes sound?”

“Uh, good,” she blinked and managed a smile. “That sounds great, if you’re already making it.”

From the small table and chairs in the corner, Sarah beckoned her over and motioned to an empty chair. “Make yourself comfortable. Did you sleep alright?”

“Like a champ,” she smiled again before she glanced around the kitchen. “Is Steve up?”

“He is,” Sarah nodded. “He’s downstairs,” she jutted her chin toward the door that led down to the basement. “Doing his laundry.”

 _A totally sane and normal thing for a twenty-two-year-old man to do at eight in the morning,_ Darcy thought dryly, hiding her urge to roll her eyes with a long sip from her steamy mug. _Way to play it cool._ “What all’s on the agenda for today?” she asked, wanting to take her mind off Steve and his suspicious behavior as quickly as possible. “Anything I can do to help get ready for tomorrow?”

Sarah looked pleasantly surprised. “Well I’m certainly not going to force you, but if you feel like baking a few pies, I wouldn’t turn down the help.”

“Mmm,” she hummed into her cup. “I’d love to. What kind are we making?”

Before Sarah could answer, a plate of potatoes fried with the peppers and onions she’d been smelling before and a pile of fluffy scrambled eggs was set in front of her. “Tuck in, love,” Granda said from behind her and gave her shoulder a squeeze.

“Pumpkin and pecan, I think,” Sarah replied once Darcy had begun eating. She looked thoughtful. “Though I bought a bag of honeycrisps at the farmer’s market on Sunday…wouldn’t hurt to add an apple to the list.”

“Apple what?” Steve asked, coming up the basement steps. He was already dressed for the day—jeans and one of his usual white t-shirts that somehow looked good no matter what.

Totally unfair, she decided in an instant. Not making this already-difficult time any easier.

He stopped awkwardly when Darcy looked up and they locked eyes. “Uh. Hey,” he said after a moment that lasted too long. “Morning.”

“Morning,” Darcy echoed quietly before she shoved a bite of scrambled eggs into her mouth. Too big of a bite. Too much. Too hot. She was filled with regret.

“Apple pie…” Sarah said slowly, glancing between them before Steve finally unstuck himself from the top of the stairs and closed the door behind him. “S’pose I’d need to find a recipe first,” she reasoned.

“I have one,” Darcy managed to croak after she swallowed. She coughed and took a sip of coffee, wondering if anyone was ever going to break down and tell Steve what size t-shirt he was supposed to be wearing. “It’s Dutch apple, though,” she added when Sarah looked interested. “The kind with the crumble on top?” She coughed again, finally able to take a full breath. “My mom used to make it all the time.”

“It’s really good,” Steve blurted from where he’d landed next to his grandfather at the stove. He coughed too. “She made it for Clint’s birthday last month.”

“Oh, that’s right,” she remembered out loud and grinned. “It was a pie-themed birthday,” she told his mother. “Frito pie, cheeseburger pie—”

“Didn’t Wanda make Oreo pie?” Steve asked.

“Luis made the Oreo pie,” Darcy corrected. “Wanda made shepherd’s pie.”

Sarah laughed, looking delighted. “That sounds lovely. Oh,” she tapped a finger to the air as if making a note. “I haven’t made a shepherd’s pie in an age, have I, Da?”

“No, but since you burnt the last I wasn’t going to be the one to ask you to make it again,” Patrick muttered turning another order of fried potatoes over on the skillet.

Sarah blushed. “It wasn’t burnt,” she insisted. “And I recall you ate it anyway.”

“Well sure I did,” he scoffed. “Christ, everyone knows you don’t argue with the warden if you want the meals to keep coming.”

Steve snorted while his mother rolled her eyes. “The warden, he calls me,” she shook her head. “Forgive me for watchin’ your diet and making sure you take your tablets on time.”

“Just don’t be worryin’ about making a shepherd’s pie tonight,” he said, changing the subject of their good-natured bickering. “These two’ve got pizza on the brain,” he motioned between Steve and Darcy with his spatula. “Tryin’ to make them eat anything else is just asking for trouble. Or worse, makin’ sure they’re out in this craziness later on.”

The spatula had been waved toward the nearest window. Darcy frowned and titled her head, trying to see what he meant. “What craziness, Granda?”

“Well not right this very moment,” he said after a second. “But come tonight, you two ought not be goin’ out into it. Mad house it’ll be, no matter where you go.”

“We figured,” Steve said. “That’s why we met up with everyone last night instead.”

Patrick looked from Steve to Darcy and back again. “And you need to keep a close eye on your girl there,” he said seriously. “This many people in from god-knows where, there’s rapists on every corner.”

She smothered a smile while Steve raised his eyebrows. “Every corner?” he asked. “Really?”

“I’m telling you, this city’s taken a turn,” Granda went on with conviction. “You can’t move for rapists these days. Wall-to-wall rapists at those clubs you go to.”

“Oh, Da, they only went down the street to Fury’s place,” Sarah broke in, exasperated, while Steve looked over at Darcy and mouthed the words _wall-to-wall rapists_ before he crossed to the coffee pot.

She tried her best to hide her giggles in her coffee and felt a little bit of the pressure in her chest relax. They could be cool, she told herself again. They could be cool around each other. They just had to remember how.

“Speaking of,” Sarah went on. “I didn’t even ask. Did you two have fun last night?”

Darcy’s heart leapt into her throat again at the same time that Steve poured scalding hot coffee on his own hand and the mug he’d missed clattered to the counter. “Yeah,” he managed to choke out, shaking his burnt hand while he reached for a tea towel. “Yeah, it was fun.”

Patrick stared at his grandson with a look of affectionate sympathy before he shook his head and returned to the skillet. “Certainly seems like it,” he muttered.

Darcy resisted the urge to drive the heel of her hand squarely into her forehead.

Before they could decide if they were going to have their Very Important Conversation after breakfast, Steve had been conscripted into duty cleaning gutters and wrapping pipes for a list of women in their seventies and eighties in the neighborhood. The ones Granda referred to as “lady friends.”

Darcy had just finished in the shower and changed into clothes she didn’t mind baking in when she heard the front door open downstairs. She secured her hair in a messy bun and headed downstairs where the sound of another male voice had joined the house.

“Hey!” Thor, Steve’s neighbor from across the street, greeted with a bright smile. “I know you!”

She grinned back as she reached the bottom of the stairs. “I know you too!” They hugged, Thor’s giant arms wrapping all the way around her like a boa constrictor.

Thor was five years their senior and had filled the space where an older brother might have fit for Steve’s entire life. He was also the son of a single mother who’d immigrated to the United States in the mid-80s, looking for a change, and he had also grown up to be a blonde-haired, blue-eyed wall of solid muscle with a set of kind eyes and killer biceps.

Sometimes Darcy wondered what was in the water in this neighborhood.

According to Sarah, Steve had idolized Thor since they were little and Thor, to his credit, had been nothing but patient and kind to his small, sickly counterpart. Always taking time to make sure he was included in whatever game the neighborhood kids were playing, picking him first on purpose every time he was captain of a kickball or softball team. There were photos of Steve and Thor all over the Rogers’ house, including one from three years ago, when Steve was a groomsman at Thor’s wedding.

“How’s Val?” she asked once Thor had released her from his delightfully bone-crushing hug. “And the baby?”

“Val’s still in Basra,” he said with a tighter smile. “Or close by,” he shrugged. “Best she can tell me, at least.”

Darcy wrinkled her nose. “That sucks,” she said honestly. “I’m sorry.” Thor had met his wife, Valkyrie, in the Marines; he chose to get out of the service after their daughter was born while Val was offered a promotion too sweet to pass up.

“And the baby—” his smile became a little more genuine as a streak of pink parka and a pile of soft, kinky brown curls darted between them right on cue. “Isn’t really a baby anymore.”

A little girl with light brown skin, freckles and bright blue eyes stopped in front of Darcy and looked up with a bright smile. “I’m Freya and I’m free years old!” she exclaimed, holding up three fingers.

Darcy beamed. “Three years old?” she repeated, pretending to be shocked. Actually, she wasn’t really pretending. She had only met Val once, when Freya was still small enough to be carried everywhere in a backpack, and seeing her running around, full of independence, was disorienting. “That’s pretty big!” she bent to be at eye level with this little whirlwind. “What’s a big three-year-old like you going to do today?”

“I’m helping Daddy and Uncle Steve,” she said as if it were obvious. Her full lips pouted thoughtfully, and she looked around. “Do you know where my Uncle Steve is?”

“Did I hear somebody say my name?” Steve asked, coming around the corner from the kitchen with a smile on his face.

“It was me!” Freya said and rushed at him without a second thought.

Steve caught her and scooped her up easily, letting her throw her arms around his neck for a long hug before she released him and he held her at arm’s length, pretending to study her. “But you can’t be _my_ Freya,” he said, looking comically concerned. “You’re way too big.”

“No, it’s me!” she cried. “I’m big!”

“No,” he shook his head, swinging her easily onto his hip. “I don’t think so. My Freya’s just a little baby. She’s only two.”

“I’m _free_ ,” she said emphatically and held up her fingers again. “Free years old. I’m big now,” she added, matter-of-factly.

He squinted, putting his nose right next to hers. “Are you _sure_?”

“Yes!” she giggled. “I’m Freya.”

“I don’t know…” Steve’s fingers moved over her ribs and she squealed with laughter. “I guess you’re just as ticklish as she is…” He kept Freya howling and wriggling like a worm while he tickled and tossed her around like a rag doll and Darcy felt like she was going to pass out from the twisting in her guts at the sight of them.

She’d never given much thought to the knowledge that Steve loved kids—except to think that of course he did, and it was a good thing since he was going to be an elementary art teacher. But knowing this about him as his best friend was one thing. Being confronted with this knowledge _now,_ after she knew what his tongue felt like in her mouth and knew what he sounded like when he came—

Now it just felt like an all-out assault, against which she could not have felt less prepared.

To her relief, Granda appeared moments later and hurried Steve, Thor, and Freya out the door to start their chores and she was alone to bake with Steve’s mother and try not to descend entirely into the ocean of hormonal madness that threatened to drown her.

There would be twelve people at the Rogers’ house for Thanksgiving dinner: in addition to the four of them, they would be joined by five Barnes, Thor, Freya, and Thor’s mother Frigga. Something about this guest list made Sarah think six pies were necessary.

Darcy wasn’t going to argue and was perfectly happy to sit at the table peeling apples while Sarah meticulously gathered and organized her ingredients for pumpkin and pecan pies. She’d just settled into a good rhythm with the peeler when her phone began to buzz in her pocket and Thomas Dolby’s “She Blinded Me with Science” played, muffled against her hip. She silenced Jane’s ringtone with a guilty smile in Sarah’s direction and excused herself to the next room.

“What’s wrong?” Jane asked as soon as she answered. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Darcy said, dropping her voice, even though she knew Sarah would rather die than eavesdrop on a houseguest. “Sorry for the SOS last night,” she added. Though she wasn’t really sorry she’d texted, she’d just been hoping for text in response.

But she should have known better. Jane hated texting. She hated not being able to pick up on the vocal and facial cues that came with speaking face to face or over the phone. For someone so brilliant and analytical, Jane’s social skills were a struggle. She needed all the clues she could get.

“It’s fine, I was just in the lab. What’s wrong?” she repeated. “Are you alright? And where are you?”

“Yeah,” Darcy said again. “I’m fine. I’m at Steve’s. His mom’s house. In Brooklyn. I’m just…” she let out a breath and pushed back the few stray hairs that had fallen into her face. “I’m kind of freaking out.”

“Oh my God, did you and Steve have sex?”

“No,” she said, too fast. Way too fast. She winced when Jane scoffed in disbelief and sat down on the edge of the couch, furthest away from the kitchen. “I mean. Not really.”

“Not really?” Jane repeated. “What happened?”

“We just…” she cleared her throat and lowered her voice again. “We just made out and.”

“ _And_?” Jane demanded. “You can’t drag me in here half-assed, Lewis. I am your best friend and on top of that, I’m living vicariously through you while maintaining this distraction-free celibacy until the end of term so use your words. What happened? Hands? Mouths? Peen close-to-but-not- _inside_ vajeen?”

Despite her twisted insides, Darcy snorted. “How is anyone supposed to take you seriously as a doctor when you say shit like that?”

“Would you rather I use medical terms?” she laughed and dropped her voice into something deeper and more professional. “Miss Lewis, did you engage in penetrative vaginal intercourse last night?”

“No, please,” Darcy giggled. “That sounds gross.”

“Then answer my questionnnnnn,” Jane whined.

“Hands,” she all but whispered and rushed on. “But oh my God, Jane, I’ve never come so hard in my _life._ ”

“Ohhh,” Jane made a sound of understanding. “So, you’re not freaking out because you hooked up and it was bad and awkward…you’re freaking out because it was _good_.”

“So good,” she admitted. “And now we’re being super weird around each other and we said we were going to talk about it but what if we talk and he says he just wants to stay friends or that we should be friends with benefits or something? I’m not cool enough to do friends with benefits,” she insisted, feeling her pulse start to spike again. “Especially not with him. I know my strengths, Jane. I’m the one you want for forgettable, slutty, drunken hookups or full-blown relationships. Anything else and I’m a mess.”

“Kinda sounds like you’re a mess full-time right now.”

“Well yeah,” she griped. “Hence the SOS.”

Jane sighed, lovingly exasperated from Boston. “Darcy, I know how you feel about Steve. If there’s even a vague possibility that he feels the same way, I don’t think he’s going to suggest you just stay friends. But either way,” she coughed lightly. “Freaking out isn’t going to help anything. Use your mouth.”

Darcy frowned. “Did you mean to say use my words?”

“I don’t know,” Jane said with a smile Darcy could hear. “Did I?”

She snorted again. “You're gross, I love you, and you need to get laid.”

“Trust me,” Jane said seriously. “I am aware of this. I love you too. Tell me everything that happens as soon as you can.”

They hung up and Darcy returned to the kitchen where Sarah was scooping out pumpkin flesh. She looked up with a bright smile that suggested she had not overheard Darcy spilling the details of how good her son was with his hands. “Everything all right?”

Darcy sat down and resumed peeling her pile of apples. “Oh, yeah,” she nodded. “That was just Jane, checking in to make sure I wasn’t alone at school.”

Sarah’s smile dimmed slightly. “I was hoping you’d hear from your dad or your brother again before they left on their trip,” she admitted, taking Darcy by surprise. “I hope they don’t feel we’ve stepped on their toes by having you here.”

“Oh,” she waved a hand, hoping to scoff away the sudden tightness in her chest. “They don’t care. And their flight was at like, five in the morning so they're long gone. I probably won’t hear from either of them until they're back in a few weeks.”

She could feel Sarah’s eyes on her while she dropped her head and focused a little too hard the apple in her hand. “That’s too bad,” Sarah said quietly.

Darcy shook her head again, resolutely keeping her emotions deep in her chest “It’s fine,” she shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

“Oh, no,” Sarah corrected herself. “I meant it’s too bad for them.” Out of the corner of her eye, Darcy saw her smile softly. “They're missing out on so much, “ she added. “Not spending time with you.”

Her teeth pressed into her bottom lip and she reached for another apple, trying not to think about how her mother used to be able to peel one in a single slice, curling long, graceful ribbons of skin into the sink, and managing to think about nothing else. She coughed quietly. “I’ve never really been all that interesting,” she said after a moment. “To either of them. They have their stuff they do together and…” her shoulder moved, and she forced herself to look up and offer a quick lie of a smile. _And I used to have a parent to do things with too,_ the rest of that sentence hung in the air for what felt like a long time before she dropped her eyes back to her apple and concentrated hard on not breaking the skin.

“Well,” Sarah said after a moment, “they have my pity.” She stood and kissed the top of Darcy’s head as the oven beeped to indicate it had finished pre-heating.

Darcy bit her lip again and swallowed down the lump that had risen in her throat. “Sarah?” She waited until the other woman had picked up a sheet pan and the roll of tin foil and turned around again. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “For um,” again her lip found its way between her teeth. “Everything,” her lips twitched into a brief smile. “I guess.”

Sarah smiled and crossed back to the table. She took one of Darcy’s hands in both of hers and squeezed. “My darling you have nothing to thank me for,” she assured her. “I’ve always considered you one of my own. Anything you need,” she eyed her seriously. “Anything at all, I hope you know you can ask me.” Worried if she spoke, she’d start crying _again_ , Darcy nodded and Sarah’s expression fell. “Unless it’s money, of course. ‘Cause I’m afraid I’ve absolutely none a’that.” She straightened up while Darcy laughed and went to retrieve a knife from the block before she stopped and smiled again. “That’s a neat trick,” she commented and pointed at the table.

Darcy looked down where, to her surprise, she’d managed to peel the whole apple in one, unbroken piece.

They had finished the pies and had started cutting and drying bread for stuffing by the time Steve and Granda returned home. Steve’s cheeks were pleasantly pink and cold radiated off him when he came through the kitchen to give his mother a kiss on the cheek.

“It smells good in here,” he commented, sniffling when his nose began to run.

“Well we’ve been busy,” Sarah said proudly.

Darcy looked up from where she was chopping celery. “You look cold,” she commented, offering him a grin that told him she was both happy to see him and happy she’d stayed home baking instead of joining him for his chores. “Granda have you on a ladder all day?”

Steve smiled back. “Not all day,” he said and held up a familiar white cardboard box tied with string. “I convinced him to let me make a stop on the way home. Y’know,” he coughed. “Despite the rapists on every corner.”

“Constant vigilance, I’m sure,” Sarah muttered, rolling her eyes.

Meanwhile, Darcy had lit up. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Do you think it’s cannoli from Carbonell’s?”

Her smile spread slowly across her face. “Yes…”

“Then yeah,” he shrugged modestly and set the box on the counter. “That’s what it is.” Before she could get up and kiss him on the mouth in front of his mother, he dropped a hand to Sarah’s shoulder. “Can we order like, fifteen pizzas? I’m starving.”

She laughed. “We can order _two_ pizzas unless you happened to win the lottery while you were out as well.”

“And garlic knots?” he asked hopefully. “I can cover it, if you need me to.”

“I have money too,” Darcy added. “I’m happy to chip in—"

“Don’t be silly, the both of you,” she swatted at her son with her dish towel. “I’m only joking. Go take a shower—I’ll order your pizzas.” She reached for her cell phone and looked back up to Darcy. “You’re not fond of mushrooms, right love?”

“That is correct.”

The pizzas and garlic knots arrived forty minutes later, only slightly ahead of schedule. Darcy had only meant to dash upstairs for a minute and pull her sweatshirt out of her bag, assuming Steve was either still in the shower or done and dressed again by that point. She hadn’t expected to open the door to her room—even though it was _his_ room—and find him looking through the top drawer of the dresser.

Still wet from the shower.

And wearing only a towel around his hips.

“Jesus,” she cried when she pushed open the door.

“What the fuck—” his hand flew to hold his towel in place.

“Sorry!” she exclaimed, now stuck in the doorway, unable to move without the risk of the whole situation getting any more awkward.

“No, my bad—”

“No, it’s your room and the door was—”

“It’s fine—”

They stopped talking over one another. Darcy knew she was staring. She couldn’t help it. He was too pretty—all smooth skin and cut muscles and sparse, dark hair over his chest and belly. “Uh—” her throat was too dry. But if she coughed or tried to clear it, he’d _know_ how every thought in her head had evaporated and was just screaming _Want!_ over and over again. “Food’s here,” she managed finally.

He nodded. There was a blush on his cheeks. His ears. His chest.

She had to stop staring at his chest.

“I’ll be right down.”

“Kay.”

Darcy made it all the way downstairs before she remembered she’d forgotten to grab her sweatshirt. Although, she considered in hindsight, that might have been for the best, since the sweatshirt she’d packed had once belonged to Steve anyway. She’d stolen it junior year and he’d never made her give it back.

Sarah was first to call it a night. Full of carbs and with an early morning ahead of her, she’d been drifting in and out of sleep on the loveseat while Steve and Darcy sat on opposite sides of the couch, a bowl of popcorn between them, listening to Granda’s running commentary on the Bette Davis movie they’d found on TCM.

“Don’t stay up too late, Da,” she said sleepily while she made a round through the room, distributing kisses and good nights. “We’ve got church in the morning.”

He wasn’t far behind, managing to stick it out to the end of _Now Voyager_ before abruptly declaring himself exhausted and heading for bed as the next movie, _5 Fingers_ , began to play. “Love you both,” he said fondly before he muttered, “hate that James Mason.”

They said their good nights and waited for him to climb the stairs all the way to his room before Steve reached for the remote. “We can watch something else, if you want,” he said, only sparing her a quick glance out of the corner of his eye.

She shook her head and reached for a handful of popcorn. “No this is good,” she insisted. “I don’t know what Granda has against James Mason,” she met his sideways gaze for a second and looked back to the screen. “I like him.”

He put the remote back down on the coffee table and grabbed a handful of popcorn for himself. “I’ve actually never seen this one,” he said, more to himself than to her.

So they watched. Any other time, Darcy would have loved the classic film noir, the high stakes spy thriller storyline, the overacting of the 1950s. But now, with each minute adding another heavy cinderblock of silence between her and Steve, she couldn’t concentrate.

Twenty minutes was all Steve could take. He coughed twice and, without looking at her, asked, “Do you…want to…talk?”

Darcy closed her eyes and steeled herself. She’d known this was coming, of course, she’d been expecting it all day. Rehearsing all the ways it might go in her head. Trying to determine an outcome based on Steve’s current behavior in comparison to how she knew he behaved after regular, non-best-friend-related hook-ups. She opened her eyes again and bit down on her lip. “No…” she said, choosing the word carefully, making sure it was fully formed before it slipped from her tongue.

Steve blinked into a frown. He reached out again and turned the tv off. “No?” he repeated in disbelief.

“No,” she said again and make herself turn to face him. “I don’t want to talk. I want to get in a time machine and go forward an hour to a time where we’ve already talked so I know what’s going to happen and I know what to say.”

“Okay,” he nodded slowly and pressed his hands together in thought, steepling his fingers. “So…if we were to get into a time machine and do that,” his fingers touched his lips for a moment while he also appeared to be choosing his words carefully. “What would an ideal outcome look like to you?”

Her stomach dropped and she shook her head. “I don’t have enough information to answer that question.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, studying her as he so often did. Like she was a clue in the crosswords he pretended he didn’t love to do with his grandfather. “Okay,” he said again. “Forget the outcome. What about what’s happening or happened or _could_ happen here is scaring you the most?”

She opened her mouth and closed it again and then moved the popcorn to the coffee table. She held out her hand. “Hold my hand,” she demanded lightly. Steve raised his eyebrows and didn’t move. “Steve,” she admonished. “I’m freaking out and I’m about to do something scary and I need my best friend to hold my hand and tell me it’s going to be okay.”

He blinked, her words—her reminder of who they’d been to each other every day for the last three years—had their intended effect and he offered her his hand. She laced their fingers together like she had when she’d gotten her ears pierced for a third time on her nineteenth birthday, when she’d opened the envelope containing her LSAT score, and when she’d dropped her applications for law school in the mailbox. He smiled faintly and squeezed her hand. “It’s going to be okay, Darce,” he said softly.

She took a steadying breath. “Okay,” she said. “I’m scared that what happened last night was…” she paused and pursed her lips. “That we both…wanted? What happened last night,” she tried again. “But for different…reasons.” This was torture. Steve was staring at her like she was barely speaking English, nodding encouragingly every time a word managed to appear fully formed in the sentence. “And if we…” she motioned between them with her free hand. “Y’know. Talk? About those reasons? And they’re not the same then…things will be…” she coughed. “Um. Awkward. I guess.”

“Whereas,” Steve asked, “what’s happening now? The way we’re been all day? That’s a level of comfort you’re looking to maintain?” His chest rose and fell with a heavy breath. “Darcy,” he looked down at their fingers twisted together before he looked up again. “I’m not sorry about what happened last night.”

“Neither am I,” she said immediately. “I just don’t know…” she pursed her lips. “I don’t know if I can keep just being your best friend now that—”

His brow furrowed. “Wait, is that what you want?”

“What?”

“To just go back to being just friends?”

“Is that what _you_ want?”

“I asked you first.”

For a moment, her irritation at this back and forth won out over her nerves and she rolled her eyes. “Of course that’s not what I want you big, blind, idiot. I’ve been in love with you every day for three years and the thought of going back to being just friends or trying some friends with benefits bullshit where I have to go back to pretending like I’m _not_ in love with you makes me want to puke—” Darcy clapped her free hand over her mouth and stared at Steve, her eyes wide.

He looked just as surprised, but his mouth dipped into a thoughtful frown and he glanced down at their hands again. “You mean two years?”

She dropped her hand with a sigh. “No, Steve. I mean three years.” And it _was_ three years that she’d loved him. Since they were wide-eyed freshmen sharing a single set of headphones to listen to music together, falling more in love with him every time he remembered to bring her a coffee while they studied together in the library or blushed when she paid him a compliment. It was why she’d felt so awful for the last two years every time he went home with someone different at a party—it wasn’t just that she was jealous, it was that she was _angry_ because those girls hadn’t looked twice at Steve before he’d bulked up. They didn’t know how sweet he was when there was nothing in it for him, how kind and soft his heart really was, they didn’t care how _good_ he was beneath all those ridiculous muscles.

She wanted that to be the end of it. To admit that was as brave as she was going to get. To tell him it was his turn now. “But look, if you were just trying to make me feel better last night or if you don’t feel the same way, I underst—”

“Make you feel better?” he cut her off, bewildered. “Darcy, I know a million ways to make you feel better that don’t involve—” he stopped and shook his head. “Sorry. I’m just.” He stopped again and took another deep breath. “Okay. I kissed you last night because I’ve spent three years _wanting_ to kiss you and _not_ kissing you and you asked if I was jealous of Sam and I _was_ and I felt like an idiot for being jealous of Sam when all he was doing was talking to you and I didn’t know how to tell you any of this so I—”

Darcy leaned in and pressed her lips to his. He froze in surprise for all of a single second before he reacted, grabbing hold of her to pull her closer, closing the distance between them on the couch. She untangled their fingers to free her hands so she could wind her arms around his neck while his went around her waist and she found herself back in his lap, her knees pinned on either side of his hips. Her lips parted beneath his and he swept his tongue over hers while she raked her fingers up and into his hair, her nails scratching lightly against his scalp. Everything inside of her felt like it was melting. This was so much better than last night. Last night their kisses had been rushed and frantic and beneath the rush of desire had been a feeling of panic of what was going to happen when they finally stopped.

Steve broke away first, sliding his hands up her sides to hold her face in his hands. He kept his forehead pressed to hers. “Wait,” he breathed, swiping his thumb over her cheek. “Just so we’re clear. You…love me?”

Darcy bit her lip and nodded. “And…you…”

“I’ve always loved you,” he said softly.

“Really?”

This close, she could almost feel his blush rather than see it. “Pretty much since you threatened to fall asleep on my shoulder at convocation,” he admitted.

She laughed around the lump that had risen in her throat. “We’re so stupid, Steve.”

He smiled and leaned in to kiss her again. Soft. Slow. Like he had all the time in the world. “We’re _so_ stupid,” he agreed in between brushes of his lips against hers.

“I’m serious,” she teased. “We’re the dumbest people I’ve ever met.”

“Idiots,” he nodded before she felt him smile against her lips. “We should make up for this serious,” their lips met again, “blind spot we both had,” another kiss, “as soon as possible.”

“I’m very into that idea,” Darcy said around another giggle.

His kisses began to wander at the same time as his hands. He kissed his way to her ear, dragged his palms up to squeeze her breasts while his tongue traced the edge of her earlobe. She rolled her hips over his, relishing the way he groaned as his cock stiffened between them. “God, I want you so bad,” he murmured against her ear.

Darcy bit back a smile and moved her head to capture his lips with hers again. She pushed gently against his chest until his back was against the couch cushion again and she could kiss his neck. “Sit back,” she whispered while her fingers trailed down his stomach to pull at the buckle of his belt. She felt his pulse spike against her lips when she undid the button and zipper of his jeans. She smiled against his skin before she gave him a little nip of her teeth, trying not to melt at the thought that he was nervous too. Her fingers slipped beneath the waistband of his jeans and the boxer-briefs he wore beneath them and she pulled both layers down as she slid down his body, making her way onto her knees between his legs.

“You don’t have to—”

“Shh,” she whispered with a smirk before dropped her chin to swirl her tongue around the head of his cock, effectively turning any more of Steve’s words into a smothered moan between his lips. She gave him a long, teasing lick, the tips of her lips hovering just above him. “Have to be quiet.”

“Fuuuuck,” the word came out as a long, slow exhale as Darcy slid her tongue along the underside of his cock, relaxing her jaw to take him as deep as she could. Her hand gripped what wouldn’t fit in her mouth while she bobbed slowly, experimenting with what made him groan and squirm.

She came off him with a soft wet sound before she reached for the hands he’d balled into fists at his sides. “Put your hands in my hair,” she said, pressing a kiss to one palm and then the other. “I want this to be good for you.”

“It is,” he breathed as he slid his fingers into her curls. “It’s—” his eyes stayed on hers when she took him back into her mouth. “You’re good,” he groaned lightly, and she began to move again. “You’re so good.” His nails curled against her scalp, showing her just how much he liked the way she was pulling back slowly and tracing her tongue over veins and ridges. His chest rose and fell quickly while his breathing turned into short little huffs as she sealed her lips to her hand and began to move them together, sucking his cock in earnest.

He bit his lip, smothering a moan so it turned into something of a whimper and Darcy felt herself getting wetter with each sound he tried to hide. Breathy little moans and groans he ground between his teeth. She suddenly couldn’t wait until they were back at school where they could be as loud as they wanted. “Darce, I’m—” he squirmed, and his grip tightened on her hair. “Fuck,” he hissed again. “I’m gonna—” His hips jolted once, shoving himself deeper into her mouth as he came, spilling down her throat while she kept her hand and mouth moving, pumping and sucking him through his orgasm until he was spent and she sat back on her heels, wiping at the corners of her mouth with the back of her hand.

Above her, Steve collapsed back on the couch looking thoroughly wrecked. She couldn’t help but feel a little flicker of pride in seeing him look so undone because of her. He let out a heavy breath and blinked slowly, like coming out of daze and crooked his finger. “Come up here,” he said softly.

Darcy licked her swollen lips and did as he asked. She curled up next to him, tucking herself beneath his arm and letting him brush his nose against hers while his hand fell to her cheek. “Good?” she asked, her voice just above a whisper.

He huffed out a quiet laugh. “Good is—” he shook his head. “No, sweetheart, you’re incredible.”

She smiled in the moment before he kissed her, wondering how on earth she’d started her day thinking she could live without this. That they could go back to a world where they didn’t get to do this whenever they wanted.

“Steve?”

Sarah’s voice floating down the stairs was a bucket of ice water. They broke apart instantly like a pair of opposite magnets while Steve scrambled for his pants. “Yeah?” he called back in a choked voice.

“I can’t remember if I set the alarm,” she called, closer now, clearly heading for the stairs. “Can you check it for me?”

Darcy felt a low roar of panic in her ears as her pulse began to thrum heavily in her neck. Sarah would only need to take one look at them both to decide what she’d nearly interrupted and Darcy was entirely sure she would not survive that. “I’m going to bed,” she hissed in a whisper as Steve redid his zipper and belt.

“No, don’t go,” he whispered back before he raised his voice again. “Yeah, I’ll get it.”

“Oh, never mind,” Sarah was already heading downstairs and Darcy was wondering why no giant black holes ever appeared when you needed them to. “I forgot my glasses anyway.”

She’d only made it as far as the bannister when her ill-planned escape route failed and she bumped almost directly into Steve’s mother, who only smiled sleepily and patted her arm. “Headed to bed, love?”

“Uh-huh,” she said quickly, and a little too loud, judging by the way Sarah jumped. “Good night, see you all in the morning.”

She brushed her teeth and washed her face and scurried into her room, shutting the door as she heard Sarah saying goodnight to Steve a second time and the stairs squeaked again. She lay down on the bed and covered her face with her hands, her heart still pounding in her chest, wondering how she was ever supposed to fall asleep after this kind of rush.

The door to Sarah’s bedroom had been closed again for nearly half an hour when Darcy heard a sound outside her closed door. She’d been reading, trying unsuccessfully to coax herself to sleep with a copy of _Good Omens_ she’d found on Steve’s shelf. Her attention snapped up as the doorknob turned and Steve slipped inside the room, holding a finger to his lips.

Eyes wide, she set the book to one side. “What are you doing in here?” she demanded, doing little more than mouthing the words. “If your mom hears you up here with me she’s going to freak out.”

But Steve did not look concerned as he made his way over to her, casually stopping at the shelf above his old desk. He’d changed into his soft pajama pants and a t-shirt that actually fit him. “What?” he asked innocently and plucked a small, dusty trophy off the shelf. “I needed my art award from 1997,” he said with a quick glance at the engraved plate. “I can’t sleep without it.”

She snorted and shook her head. “You’re such a dork,” she said fondly when he set the trophy back and sat down on the edge of the bed beside her. “But seriously, isn’t your mom going to flip?”

He shook his head. “She’s so asleep,” he assured her. “She took a Benadryl when she came down the second time—I’m amazed she managed to make it up the stairs before she passed out.” He reached out and pushed her hair behind her ear. “I wanted to give you a good night kiss.”

Darcy smiled and leaned in to press her lips to his. Already, kissing him felt like second nature. Like she’d been doing it her whole life. His hand slid into her hair and her lips parted for him when his other arm wrapped around her waist. “Is that all?” she asked, giggling against his lips when he shifted and moved them both so he could join her on the bed.

“Yeah,” he breathed, his knees falling to either side of her thighs, the sheets and comforter still between them. “Why?” he began to kiss her neck while her hands slipped under his t-shirt. His skin was so warm and smooth beneath her fingertips. “What were you hoping for?”

She hadn’t forgotten how wet he’d made her downstairs, how she’d been hoping for some relief from the way he’d set her on fire with all his muffled moaning and squirming beneath her tongue. She just figured he’d pay her back when they got home. Or not. Plenty of guys she knew—plenty of guys she’d dated and hooked up with—had a skewed idea of what reciprocity meant when it came to oral sex.

Not that she’d gone down on Steve as a down payment for a favor in the future. She hadn’t been thinking about herself at all, other than how much she’d wanted to make him feel good. And now that she _was_ thinking about it, they hadn’t really resolved anything before that urge had taken over. Other than acknowledging that they felt the same way, that wasn’t exactly—

Steve pulled back from kissing her shoulder and looked into her eyes, his brow furrowed with concern. “Uh-oh,” he said quietly, but with a smile still tugging at his lips. “You are thinking way too much right now.”

“No, I’m not,” she argued lightly. “I just…” she laughed and felt her cheeks burn. “Maybe a little.”

“Maybe a little,” he repeated, rolling his eyes while he sat back on his heels, still holding her in place between his knees. “I can practically _hear_ your brain working overtime. And actually,” he laced their fingers together on both hands. “That’s most of the reason I came up here.”

She frowned. “Because you could hear my brain all the way downstairs?”

He smiled and leaned back in to kiss her again. “Not exactly. I was worried,” their lips brushed again. “That in all the—” he coughed, “excitement and you fleeing upstairs like a convict,” she grinned and accepted another kiss.

“Yes?”

“That you might not be able to sleep.”

“Oh,” she raised her eyebrows. “Well that’s very thoughtful of you,” she said around another smile. “To provide this…turn-down service?”

Steve moved back and rolled the blanket away from her lower body before he returned to be within kissing distance. “Here at Chateau Rogers we strive for a restful and relaxing experience for all our houseguests.”

Darcy bit her lip and pretended to think. “Y’know, I’ve actually stayed at Chateau Rogers before,” she said, trying to keep her cool when Steve’s fingers slipped beneath the waistband of her pajama pants and he started to shift them slowly down. “I don’t recall this level of hospitality.”

“It’s a new policy,” he answered smoothly when she lifted her hips. “Limited policy,” he added quickly. “ _Very_ exclusive perk we’re offering to some of our valued returning clientele.” He slid her flannel pants the rest of the way down her legs and tossed them aside. “Specifically for those guests staying with us this weekend only.”

She felt her face flush again and she smothered back another smile. “That right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And how do I qualify for this perk?”

Steve ran his hands down her thighs. “Pretty easy,” he said in a maddeningly conversational tone that did not match the way her heart had started to pound again. He curled his hands around the backs of her knees and pulled her flat on her back with one swift tug, the surprise making her muffle a laugh behind her hand. “Just lay back,” he crawled back up her body until his lips hovered over hers, smiling while she tried to stop laughing. “And let me take care of you.” His nose brushed against hers. “Okay?”

She nodded. “Okay,” she whispered before he kissed her again. He lingered on her lips for only a moment before he moved to her neck and what he could reach of her clavicle, then dropped his head lower, sliding her t-shirt up to press soft kisses against her belly. Dipping lower and lower until he could hook his thumbs beneath her panties and slide them off to the floor with her pajamas.

Her heart was still pounding loudly in her ears. She didn’t know why she was so nervous—it wasn’t like she’d never done this before. Steve wrapped his arms around her thighs and held her legs open, spreading her fully so she could feel his breath warm against her. He turned his head and kissed the inside of her thigh before he looked back up at her through his thick fan of dark eyelashes. She squirmed for just a second before he dropped his head and let his tongue slide over her in a long, slow lick.

Darcy’s head fell back against the pillows and she put a hand over her mouth again. Steve made a sound against her, almost a hum of satisfaction while he explored every inch of her, pulling her closer, lapping at her clit before thrusting his tongue deep inside to taste her. She couldn’t help her whimper as her free hand raked against his scalp.

She’d been wrong. She’d never done this before. Not like this. Not with someone who wanted to take his time like this, who closed his eyes and moaned softly like she was the most delicious thing he’d ever had in his mouth. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her hips while he fucked her with his tongue, making it harder to muffle her moans against her hand. “Steve,” she begged finally, her voice barely a whisper. She didn’t know what she wanted except maybe for him to never stop, ever. He didn’t stop lapping at her greedily, but he took his hand from around one of her thighs and dragged hers from his hair, tangling their fingers together.

It was grounding, centering, pulling her back into her body when she felt like she’d been floating above it, too dizzy with pleasure to think about why this felt so good. Because it was _Steve._ Who knew her better than anyone else on the planet. Who could give her what she needed when she didn’t know how to ask. She squeezed his hand tightly and smothered another sharp inhale when his lips sealed around her clit. He released her other thigh and plunged two fingers inside her as deep as he could.

She turned her head against the pillow to muffle her moan. It was too much. The combination of his full lips sucking on her clit while he fucked her with his fingers. Too much. Too good. Her orgasm took her by surprise, snapping up her spine like a firework and slamming through her body for what felt like forever until Steve finally relented and slowed his hand.

By the time she came back down and could feel her fingers and toes again, Steve had swiped the hem of his t-shirt over his face and was looking quite pleased with himself as he moved back up her body until he could cage his arms around her and drop his lips to hers for a soft, sweet kiss. “Go to sleep, Darcy.”

She frowned in confusion as he kissed the tip of her nose one more time and then started to move to stand up. She grabbed his hand. “Aren’t you staying?”

He smiled. “Do you want me to?”

Darcy nodded and then bit her lip. “Yes,” she said truthfully. “But I don’t want to upset your mom.” Sarah had been too good to her to continue to disrespect her rules.

Steve swung his legs over the side of the bed and brushed her hair out of her face again. “I love you,” he said softly.

She felt her smile stretch across her face. “Can you say that to me every night?”

He nodded. “You got it.”

“I love you too,” she echoed before he closed the distance between them for one last kiss.

She pulled her pajamas back on after he’d left, feeling giddy and drunk and better than she was certain she ever had.

And she fell into bed and was asleep in minutes.


	3. iii

Come feel this magic I've been feeling since I met you  
Can't help it if there's no one else  
I can't help myself

-taylor swift  
"hey stephen"

iii.

“I don’t know why you’re still even down here,” Sarah’s voice preceded her appearance in the doorway of the kitchen the next morning. “You should be—Oh!” She stopped in the midst of fastening her other earring and brightened. “Well, good morning,” she greeted Darcy cheerfully. “You're up early, we didn’t wake you, did we?”

“No, no,” Darcy lied with a smile. As if a human begin could be expected to sleep through Patrick Grant’s rendition of ‘Bless This House’ which echoed off the tile of the bathroom and directly into the neighboring rooms. “Just got a good night’s sleep and felt like getting an early start today.”

Steve bumped into Sarah and peered over her shoulder to catch Darcy’s attention. He offered a smile that surprised her with its shyness. “Hey.”

She hoped her blush wasn’t too obvious as she took a sip of her coffee. “Hey.”

He slid past his mother and into the kitchen. “You, uh,” he coughed as he opened the cabinet and took out the mug Natasha had given him for his birthday last year. The one that said _World’s Okayest Friend._ “You sleep okay?”

“She just said she did, love,” Sarah gave him a pat on the shoulder as she moved around him to the refrigerator. “Might want to pay attention.” She opened the door and examined the twenty-six-pound turkey she had stuffed before she’d started to get ready for church. Her blue eyes fell back on Darcy and she smiled kindly. “I hate to impose, but would you mind terribly putting this in at 325° at nine-thirty? Oven’s already pre-heated.”

“No problem,” she agreed easily with a glance at the clock. Quarter to nine.

“Though I suppose I could ask my heathen son,” Sarah glared in Steve’s direction. “Who appears to _not_ be going to church with us.”

Steve rolled his eyes with a groan. “Ma, come on. I’m not going to leave our houseguest here by herself to cook for us like some kind of slave—”

“That’s absolutely not what I’m doing,” Sarah said, clapping a dramatic hand to her chest.

“Totally not what she’s doing,” Darcy chimed in with a cheeky grin.

“She knows she’s always welcome to join us!”

“Always.”

“Really?” Steve looked from one to the other before he sighed. “Anyway, you sent me to Catholic school for twelve years,” he reminded, changing tactics. “I’m good. I’m churched.”

In an exact mirror of her son, it was Sarah’s turn to roll _her_ eyes. “It’s not a battery, Steven,” she said, sounding pained. “And even if it were, I’m sure yours could do with a recharge.” She shook her head and took a bottle of vitamins from the nearest cabinet, shaking one out into her hand. “Lord knows what you get up to at that school…”

“It’s just sinning nonstop, Ma,” Steve assured her dryly.

“Back-to-back orgies, rioting, looting,” Darcy added while Steve poured his coffee.

“Praying to false gods seven days a week,” Steve countered.

“I’ve tried to keep him on the straight and narrow—”

“But how much can you ask of someone who _won’t stop_ worshipping Satan?” Steve asked with a remarkably straight face.

“Can’t stop/won’t stop.”

“Every time I turn around she’s covered in the blood of a she-goat.”

“Not to mention all the crack we smoke.”

“ _Alright!”_ Sarah exclaimed, unable to keep herself from laughing. “That’s more than enough out of both of you. Stay home for all I care.” She shook her head, exasperated and ran a glass under the tap to swallow her vitamin before she left the kitchen. “Da!” she called up the stairs. “Are you nearly ready! I don’t want to have to be squished in the back!”

Granda’s feet were heavy on the stairs in the moment before they heard the opening of the coat closet in the hall. “I’m ready when you are.”

“Well, I guess I am,” Sarah answered back. “Steve’s not coming.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” Patrick said lightly. “Let him spend some time with his girl.”

Darcy hid her smile in her coffee again while the sound of rustling coats and jingling car keys drifted in from the hallway.

“We’ll be back by ten-thirty,” Sarah called back to them. “Eleven at the latest!”

“We’ll be here!” Steve assured her, a look of mild impatience on his face.

“If you’re staying,” she went on. “You need to baste that bird every thirty minutes!”

“Kay!”

A pause from the front of the house. “How long did I just say?”

He rolled his eyes so hard Darcy thought he might pull a muscle. “Every thirty minutes!” he called back. “Go to church! Pray for my soul!”

“Quit your naggin’, woman,” Patrick admonished. “Let’s go. I don’t want to be stuck next to…”

They didn’t hear who he was avoiding as he opened the front door and let himself out, grumbling his way down to the car. Sarah hesitated one more moment. “Love you!”

“Love you too,” Steve called, his head hanging back in irritation.

“Every thirty minutes!”

“I promise I heard you!”

The house was shockingly quiet once the door closed again. Darcy set her cup down and smothered her lips into a straight line. “Did you tell your mom about us?”

Steve frowned and looked in the direction of the front door before he looked back. “When would I have had time?” he asked. “She’s been _directing_ since her feet hit the floor this morning.” He ran a hand over his face and shook his head. “Kinda thought they’d never leave.”

Darcy finished her coffee and stood up to cross the kitchen to stand in front of him. “Well,” she said dropping her hand to the space on the counter next to where he was leaning his hip. “It appears that they have.”

“Finally,” he smiled and tipped her chin up to press a sweet kiss to her lips. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” she echoed, stretching up to trade him another kiss. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

“It’s definitely shaping up to be,” he said, a smile stayed on his lips for another moment before it fell. “Do you want me to _not_ tell my mom about us?”

“No,” she shook her head. “No, of course not.” She let her hands rest on his hips, not fighting when he slowly turned her around so that she was the one leaning against the counter. “I just—um—”

Steve eyed her carefully for a second before he grabbed her hips and hoisted her up, so she was sitting in the corner of the counter. She squealed in surprise and leaned forward, catching herself on his shoulders while he stepped up to stand between her legs. “What’s up, Darcy Rose?” he asked, dropping his hands to the counter on either side of her. “What’s going on in your busy brain?”

She pursed her lips. “So…last night,” she began carefully. “We…said that we…love each other.”

He nodded. “Yes, I remember.”

She smiled and nudged his sides with both of her knees. “But then we kind of got…” she felt her cheeks turn pink again. “Carried away and we didn’t really—” she coughed. “Talk. About what that means.”

Steve frowned in confusion; his head tilted to one side like a Labrador. “Well…” he said after a moment to consider what she was trying to ask. “To me, it means that I love you, Darcy. And I want to be with you. I want us to be together.”

She resisted the urge to sigh in relief. “Okay, good, I want that too,” she said quickly, grateful when he smiled again. “More than anything.”

“Is this where you tell me there’s a _but_ coming?”

“No,” she shook her head again. “No but. I love you. I want to be with you. That’s it.” She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his, sliding herself to the edge of the counter to draw him closer.

To her surprise, he pulled back first, still looking suspicious. “That’s it?”

“Uh-huh,” she nodded and went to kiss him again.

He pulled back a second time. “So you don’t want to talk about anything else?”

She blinked. “Do _you_ have something you want to talk about?”

“No,” he laughed. “I’m just trying to keep up. I know you usually like to think and worry about everything, all the time, at least eighteen months in advance—”

She laughed again and reached up to slide her hands along his neck, lacing her fingers at his hairline. “You’re right,” she said. “I do. But all I’m thinking about right now is that lost time we were talking about making up for last night.”

“Mmm,” he hummed and let her pull him close again to touch her lips to his.

“And that for the first time since we got here,” she kissed him again, pulling back this time to tease him. “You and I,” another kiss, “are all alone.”

She felt Steve smile against her lips when his hands drifted down her sides. They anchored at her hips while he tilted his head and deepened their kiss. Darcy felt all the heat from the night before slide down her throat like whiskey, warming her belly and making her feel giddy with anticipation.

She fit herself tighter against him, wrapping her legs around his narrow hips as her lips parted for him. He moved under her shirt, warm palms skating over her back and sides like he was trying to memorize every inch of her. She let him push her back a little so he could get his hands on her breasts, squeezing and rolling her nipples between his fingers while he stroked his tongue over hers.

The moan she let out was muffled between their lips and she felt him smile again when he pulled away and kissed over to her ear. “Do that again?” he asked, the words a whisper against her skin.

“Do what?” she tilted her head, hoping he would lavish some of his attention on her neck.

“Make that sound.” She could feel him smile as he kissed her ear again, taking time to run his tongue along the edge of her earlobe. She bit her lip and wrapped her legs tighter around him while he pulled another moan from the back of her throat. To her surprise, he reached up and pulled her bottom lip from between his teeth with his thumb, pulling back to look at her, his eyes dark with lust. “Just you and me,” he reminded, running his thumb over both of her parted lips. “You can be as loud as you want.”

His words sent a little thrill down her spine and Darcy drew him back in for another kiss, pushing her tongue between his lips this time. As if to prove his point, Steve’s hand stayed on her neck while the other slipped beneath the waistband of her pajamas and between her thighs where she was already wet.

He pulled back just in time to hear the sound she made when he spread her arousal over and around her clit. “Good girl,” he breathed against her neck before his lips touched her skin again. Darcy practically whimpered, wondering when _those_ words had become so effective. She arched into him, her arms around his neck, holding his face in the crook of her neck, barely balanced on the edge of the counter while her bore down, circling her clit hard and fast and bringing her to the brink faster than anyone else ever had. She came with a sharp inhale that fell into a breathy flood of giggles as relief and pleasure mingled their way through her body in slow, delicious waves.

“Take me back upstairs,” she said when he finally pulled his hand back and she could blink the spots away from her eyes.

Steve nodded as he stepped back to help her off the counter but the second her feet his the floor, he pulled her back in. His arms folded around her waist, and she melted back into him on her already unsteady legs. It took her a second to realize he’d started walking backward, moving them out of the kitchen and toward the stairs.

A thought flew through her head and she made a little sound of protest against his lips before she pushed on his chest. “Wait, wait wait—” she breathed when he let her go, looking concerned.

“What’s wrong?”

She scurried back into the kitchen and opened the oven, pulling out the center rack before she went to the refrigerator. When the fridge had swung closed again, Steve was standing back in the doorway, looking amused. She stopped at the sight of the clock and winced. “It’s only five after nine,” she said, looking down at the turkey in the roasting pan. “Should I wait—”

“Darcy, I swear to God—” he laughed.

“Okay, okay,” she agreed, shaking her head. “It’s just twenty minutes,” she reminded herself. “No big deal.”

She closed the oven door and turned back around seconds before Steve grabbed her again. “You good?” he asked, a half-smile still on his face.

“I’m good,” she nodded. “Sorry, I just…I told your mom I would—”

He kissed the rest of the words off her lips, waiting until she leaned up into him again before he pulled back and pressed his forehead to hers. “I know,” he assured her. “I’m very glad you don’t want to disappoint my mom,” he said. “But right now I really, _really_ want to take you back upstairs—”

She stretched up and kissed him soundly, sliding her hand between them to stroke his cock through his pants. “Or we could just stay down here,” she suggested, pleased when he groaned against her lips.

He shook his head, surprising her when his cheeks turned pink. “I’ve—um—never had sex in a kitchen before,” he admitted. “I don’t want to try it for the first time in _this_ kitchen.”

Darcy couldn’t help her giggle and the rush of affection that hit her, almost making her lightheaded as she laced her fingers with his on both hands and took a step backward, pulling him with her until their lips collided again. “That’s okay,” she promised. “We can try it in a different kitchen,” she said in between kisses. “Another time.”

He smiled again, still pink. “Holding you to that.”

She dropped one more kiss on his lips and then dragged him the rest of the way to the front of the house before letting him chase her up the stairs and back to his bedroom. He kicked the door shut behind them and Darcy met him at the foot of his bed, pulling back from another kiss long enough to pull his shirt over his head and drop it to the ground behind them.

She let her fingers run over his skin for one greedy moment, then slipped her own shirt off, turning around to press her back to his chest while she pulled his hands around her to palm her breasts again. He kissed her neck and down to the top of her shoulder, going with her when she climbed onto the bed, covering her body with his so she could feel him pressing hard and insistent against her ass, making her groan again.

His hands were on her hips, sliding her remaining layers down until she could kick them away and he kissed his way back up her spine. “Turn around,” he said, pulling at her gently. “I want to see your face.”

Darcy felt an unfamiliar flush of nerves as she tilted her head, arching back against him. “You’ve seen my face,” she reminded, keeping her tone light, teasing.

“Not like this,” he said softly. She bit her lip and let him turn her around to lay her back down against the soft sheets. His eyes dropped between them, roaming over her body until they trailed back up to her face and he smiled. “Hi.”

She felt her breath catch in her throat when she smiled back. “Hi.”

“Did I ever tell you you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen?”

She laughed and rolled her eyes. “I love you, you liar,” she said, pulling his face down to hers for a sweet kiss. It deepened quickly when her lips parted and her legs wrapped around his waist.

“I love you too,” he said when he broke away, letting his nose brush against hers. “And you should know me well enough to know when I’m lying and when I’m telling the truth.”

Darcy swallowed hard and nodded slightly. “Yeah,” she said softly. “I guess I do.” She rolled her hips against his, desperate for more than just the feel of him through the fabric of his pants. “Keep going,” she urged, reaching between them to push the material down his legs. Steve reached behind her, sliding his hand beneath her pillow. She blinked when he returned with a condom between his fingers. “How long has that been there?”

He smirked. “I put it there this morning,” he promised, kissing the corner of her mouth. “After I saw you were up.”

She giggled while he shoved his pants all the way off and ripped the condom open with his teeth. “A visit from the safe sex fairy.”

“One of the lesser known fairies,” he joked as he rolled it on and returned to cage his arms around her, sliding back between her thighs like they were made to fit together like this. He stopped just as the tip of his cock brushed against her folds, his lips hovered above hers. “You still want this, right?”

Darcy nodded again, reaching between them to wrap her hand around him, pumping him encouragingly. “I want this so bad,” she breathed. “Please don’t make me wait anymore.”

He dropped his head, pinning his forehead to hers as his hips surged forward, sinking into her slowly, inch by inch, with a deep groan. She squeezed her legs tighter around his waist when their hips were flush, his open mouth breathing heavily just over hers. “Jesus, Darcy,” he whispered.

She opened her eyes into his and stretched her neck to kiss him. “I need a second,” she breathed, her heart racing while she adjusted to this deliciously satisfying stretch.

He gave her what she asked for, kissing her slowly, gently, stroking his tongue over hers again until she rolled her hips, urging him to move. She appreciated that he was trying to go slow, to make this last as long as possible while they found a rhythm that hit her just right. She wanted this to last too, especially with the way Steve was moaning quietly every time she lifted her hips to meet his thrusts, with the way he kissed and nuzzled at her throat and kept his eyes on hers as long as possible, like he really did think she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. And tangled up with the wish for this sweet, clumsy first time to last as long as possible was the thrill that this wasn’t the _only_ time and that they could do this whenever they wanted.

Her thighs squeezed around his hips and she linked her ankles at the base of his spine, holding him deep inside her. “Faster,” she said, clenching around him as he groaned.

Steve kissed her again and to her relief, sped up, stoking that fire he’d started beneath her skin a little more with each thrust. His hands gripped hers hard, almost painfully as he drew them high above her head, stretching her out so her tits bounced with every slam of his hips against hers. He locked her wrists together, one over the other and held them with one large hand while the other went back to her mouth and pulled at the lip she hadn’t even realized she’d clenched between her teeth again.

She moaned again, unmuffled this time, when Steve sucked his fingers and slipped between them. He released her hands and shifted to kneel, letting her legs fall open wide while he kept moving, rubbing at her clit in time with the snap of his hips until Darcy’s back was bending off the bed and she was pretty sure even the neighbors could hear her.

Steve fell forward again, grabbing her face to kiss her desperately while he kept going, kept pushing hard and fast into her until he came with a cry she sucked from his tongue, holding the sound deep in her lungs while his cock throbbed and spilled into the condom.

He kept himself up on his arms as he slowed to a stop, his forehead sweaty and his chest rising and falling with his heavy breathing. “Holy shit,” he huffed, staring down at her with wide eyes.

She smiled, feeling breathless and wrung out and entirely uncertain if her legs would hold her when she tried to walk. “Yeah.”

He leaned down, thrusting deep inside of her one more time to kiss her before he pulled out. “Yeah?” he repeated, a half-smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

“Yeah,” she breathed, and nodded for good measure, swiping a hand over her flushed face. “Yeah.”

He got up and took care of the condom and then came immediately back to bed, crawling up her body again to capture her lips with his. Darcy wished they could spend the whole day like that, in this soft bed, trading kisses and making each other laugh until the sun sank back down again.

Just as she was about to suggest they do as much of that as they could, Steve’s head shot up and his eyes widened. “Fuck.”

“What is it?” she asked, concerned.

“I have to baste that fucking turkey.”

Darcy snorted so loudly it hurt her nose and dissolved into giggles as Steve unwound himself from her arms and legs and pulled his clothes back on, wondering if it was possible to ever love anyone as much as she loved him in that moment.

She heard the arguing as soon as she opened the bathroom door from her shower an hour later. Sarah and Steve’s voices floated up the stairs and through the lingering steam as she scrunched curl cream into her hair and strained to listen.

“I swear to God, if you’re lyin’ to me, Steven…”

“I’m not!” he exclaimed. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

“How about what you were doin’ that was more important than watching this bird like I told you twenty times.”

“What is there to watch? What was it supposed to tap dance? I did what you told me to—”

“Then why does it look so dry?” she demanded and upstairs, Darcy smothered her lips together.

“Because you’re obsessing over it?” Steve suggested. “I basted it like, three times while you were gone. Maybe it’s just a dry turkey.”

She snorted softly and wrapped her hair in its towel again to set her curls while she did her makeup.

“Lucky I still have plenty of time to fix it,” Sarah said. “But don’t think I can’t tell when you’re trying to hide something.”

Darcy didn’t want to eavesdrop any longer and closed the door again, pretending she’d heard nothing when she went downstairs to help with the sweet potato casserole.

Dinner was at four, but the house was full by three. Laughter and conversation and a few sips from a glass of the red wine Frigga brought and Darcy felt like she barely blinked and it was time to gather around the table. Steve, Bucky, and Thor had been tasked with bringing in both leaves for the dining set and enough chairs to make it big enough to hold all twelve of them. Freya had then enlisted Steve’s help in making and decorating place cards and Darcy and Bucky were in charge of making sure each card had enough turkey stickers to meet the three-year-old’s approval.

“Oh, we should do that thing,” Becca Barnes suggested once everyone had taken their seats around the feast of turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, and three kinds of casseroles.

“What thing?” Bucky asked from Steve’s other side. Seemingly unaware that Steve had reached beneath the table to give Darcy’s thigh a squeeze.

“That thing where we go around and say what we’re thankful for,” the teenager said. Her brother hid a groan in a gulp of wine, deflecting a look of disapproval from their mother.

Because it had been her idea, Becca offered to start, beginning a trail around the table of giving thanks for all the normal things: healthy kids, a new job, a new president, until finally it was Sarah’s turn.

She smiled at her friends and family and cleared her throat. “Oh, well, I suppose of course that I’m thankful for all of you coming ‘round every year so we can celebrate together. And I’m thankful that Darcy could join us this year because it’s so wonderful to have her with us.” Darcy felt her heart twist when Sarah’s smile landed on her. “And most importantly, this year,” Sarah went on, “I’m grateful that Darcy and my son have decided to stop being _quite_ so blind and stupid and have finally realized what they’ve found with one another.”

On Steve’s left, Bucky spit out the water he’d just sipped. “What!?”

“Which, if you all recall the reminder email Winnie sent out on Monday,” Sarah continued, raising her voice over the sudden din of excited laughter and shouts of _Wait, seriously? You guys are together?_ “Means that Thor and I are tied for the win in this pool.” Thor stood from his place across from Sarah and they clapped a high-five. “And that will be forty bucks,” she swiped a pointed finger around the table amid good-natured groans and grumbles and more laughter. “From each of you.”

Darcy felt her cheeks burn as Steve’s arm went around her shoulders and she felt his voice close to her ear. “I had to tell her,” he admitted, as if she hadn’t already guessed. “Are you mad?”

She laughed, despite her blush and shook her head. “No,” she giggled and leaned against him when he kissed her forehead.

“Hang on,” Steve spoke up as Bucky was reaching for his wallet. “I thought you were kidding. You’ve seriously all been betting on us?” he asked in disbelief. “For how long?”

“When did you first come to visit, sweetheart?” Frigga asked, directing the question at Darcy.

“Uh,” she bit her lip, still laughing. “Spring break. Freshman year.”

Frigga looked back at Steve. “Since spring break, your freshman year, Steve.”

“I don’t believe this,” he laughed, shaking his head. “My own flesh and blood.”

“How do you think I feel, with my grandson acting like such a daft idiot,” Patrick mirrored him. “My God, I tell you what, Steve, if you’d taken any longer to realize what a catch she was, I was about to clap you round the back of the head.”

“Alright, alright,” he called over the laughter, his own cheeks red now. “We’re all very thankful for Darcy. That much is obvious.”

That was enough to settle everyone and with a toast to good friends and new beginnings and a quick grace, it was time to eat.

Darcy began her meal with Steve’s arm around her shoulders and her heart so full it could burst, feeling very thankful indeed.

_~fin~_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving, my kittens. Guess what I'm thankful for, this year and every year I spend in Darcyland? 
> 
> That's right. It's you.
> 
> <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts?  
> :-*
> 
> ________________________
> 
> You know how we do:
> 
> photoset: https://idontgettechnology.tumblr.com/post/632887885849411584/coming-november-2020  
> playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/09kuoAKBltnD0s9kJzjjis?si=oYHVKGkKR7e9nLAjGV07hg


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